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Chapter Text

Councillor Medarda’s gala lights up the entire city, bringing a smouldering dawn to the skyline at ten at night. An airship circles the lucky estate hosting the annual celebration, and Caitlyn can almost hear the music from her kitchen, miles away.

The streets are eerily quiet. No one passes, and the flash of automobile lights swinging around dark corners never come, never reflect off the residential windows. Anyone who is anybody is at the gala, her parents included, but Caitlyn is celebrating alone.

It’s the first real victory she’s had in years. The adrenaline is better than any ballroom gossip. She has suffered through dozens of high-society events in her time, hundreds, and tonight marks the first time she has been brave enough to utter those simple words: I’m afraid I have a terrible headache and won’t be able to make it.

The house is dark, save the spacious kitchen. Her house is nothing like the one she grew up in. It’s large, yes, ridiculously so, but most of the rooms are shut off when they’re not needed, and none of the staff live on the premises. A cleaner comes twice a week, handling what little Caitlyn can’t, and she tends to her own chores, makes her own meals.

Most of them have been made tonight. Her apron is a canvas of oil, flour, and passata, the oven hums away, warming the entire room, and every available surface has something to boast of. Coq au vin, lasagne, cheese and tarragon-stuffed mushrooms, slow-roasted salmon, squash risotto; Caitlyn isn’t certain when she decided to start cooking, but suspects it roughly coincided with her decision to open her favourite bottle of wine.

It wasn’t her favourite bottle of wine when she pulled it from the rack. It wasn’t her favourite after her first tentative glass. It wasn’t until she polished off the bottle and went searching for another of the same year that she decided she’d never tasted anything better, never felt so good.

She hums off-key, pouring herself a generous helping. The oven chimes. She takes out the dish, remembering the oven gloves at the last moment, and puts it on the counter with a thud. With too great a thud, even for a pasta bake of the size.

Slowly pulling the oven gloves off, Caitlyn’s eyes drift to the ceiling. She holds her breath, room deathly quiet now she’s no longer clattering around and singing out of tune, and hears it: the creak of a floorboard above, the soft thud of a window closing.

The front door is locked. She’s been alone for hours, and everyone she knows is at the Councillor’s gala.

Caitlyn does the only sensible thing. She tiptoes into the living room, unlocks the lowest drawer of the corner cabinet, and takes out a gun. It’s a shotgun, hardly ideal for her intended purpose, but her sidearm is in her bedside cabinet. It’ll have to do.

Pulling her dressing gown tighter around herself, Caitlyn takes slow, unsteady steps towards the source of the noise. It isn’t the alcohol playing tricks on her. There really is someone shuffling around upstairs.

Her toes curl in the plush carpet. She knows where to put her feet to avoid any creaking floorboards, knows exactly where the sound is coming from.

Her bedroom.

Caitlyn presses herself to the wall, trying to get a glimpse inside. The door’s slightly ajar, and the glow of a torch sweeps around the room, almost catching her. Drawers swing open, jewellery clatters. Someone mutters under their breath, and Caitlyn doesn’t waste another second.

She leaps into the room, slams a hand against the light switch, and points the gun at the intruder. The person – woman – yelps, more startled by the onslaught of artificial light than the weapon, and throws up her hands.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Caitlyn demands.

The woman stares at her, then stares down the barrel of the gun. At first, all Caitlyn can see are her ratty clothes: ripped jeans, a jacket of indeterminate colour, and boots peeling away from their soles. The woman swallows hard, and Caitlyn follows the motion until she meets her eyes; steely grey, wide, but not full of fear Caitlyn expected to inspire.

This isn’t the first time she’s been caught red-handed.

“I mean, I think that’s pretty obvious,” the intruder says, waving the trinket in her right hand.

Caitlyn immediately recognises it. It’s a brooch passed down from her paternal grandmother, Ionian in design and make. Caitlyn’s only worn it a handful of times, but she’s spent hours running her fingers over the intricate, layered design.

“Put. That. Down,” Caitlyn says, pointing the gun between the woman and the dresser.

“Yep. Yep, no problem. I’m just gonna—niiiice and slowly,” the woman says, side stepping towards the dresser.

Eyes fixed on Caitlyn, still squinting where she’s trying to adjust to the light, the woman slowly places the brooch by Caitlyn’s hairbrush. The woman lifts her brow, waiting for approval, and Caitlyn gestures with the gun again.

“Huh?” the woman asks.

“Keep moving,” Caitlyn says, pointing the gun between the woman and her destination. “That dresser. There. Take what you want from it.”

The woman stares at the dresser Caitlyn’s guided her to, letting out a strangled, nervous laugh.

“You’re kidding, right? This is some kind of joke,” she says. Her accent has an edge to it Caitlyn isn’t used to hearing. The clothes, the voice, the intrusion; she must be from the Undercity. “I can’t steal that badge but I can ransack this whole set up?”

“It’s my wife’s,” Caitlyn explains. “Take what you want from it. She won’t notice.”

The woman purses her lips together. Slowly, she lowers a hand to the dresser, body taut, waiting for a shotgun shell to burst her chest open. Caitlyn’s finger remains steady on the trigger. The woman picks up the first thing she feels, a silver necklace with glowing, blood-red jewels, and holds it out for approval.

“An excellent choice. Those are real rubies,” Caitlyn says.

The woman slips the necklace into the pocket of her jeans, hand immediately back in the air.

“Look. I know better than to look a generous Piltie in the mouth, but I’m pretty sure I’m screwed,” the woman says. “The enforcers are on their way, right? That’s why you’re letting me take this. It’s a distraction and a way to land me in more shit.”

“What?” Caitlyn’s upper lip curls. “No. Don’t be absurd. The simple truth is that while I am an excellent shot, I am currently a bottle and a half deep in thirty-year-old red wine. I can see this ending one of two ways: I shoot and I don’t miss, and you pay for this little stint of breaking and entering with your life, or I shoot, miss, and you take the opportunity to strike.”

Silence hangs in the air. Despite the lightness in her legs, Caitlyn’s aim remains true.

A sudden bark of laughter escapes the woman.

“You’re drunk? Shit, you’re hammered and you’re pointing a fucking shotgun at me,” she says. Her steely eyes gleam like the necklace tucked away in her jeans, and Caitlyn knows there are a dozen stories behind them. “Look. I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? There’s a reason I chose tonight to come topside. Everyone’s supposed to be at that Council party, and I figured this place would be an easy mark. You need better security, Cupcake. Took me three minutes to get over the gate, up the wall, and through your bedroom window.”

The woman grins. Her incisors are pronounced, just like all Zaunites.

“Cupcake?” Caitlyn repeats, gun growing heavy in her hands.

“Uh, yeah. You’re wearing an apron over your dressing gown and it’s covered in flour and I don’t know what else,” she explains. “Figured you were down there baking. What, running late for the party and taking a tray of cupcakes as an apology, huh?”

“What? No, I was cooking, not baking, and I’m not going to the gala. I have a headache.”

Caitlyn says it with a hint of pride. She stands straighter, adjusting the gun in her hands. The woman barely flinches.

“A headache? Was that before or after you necked a bottle and a half of wine by yourself?”

“I don’t have a headache, I have a headache. I really could not stomach the thought of attending yet another gala, mixing with the same sycophants as I do every night of the year,” Caitlyn explains.

“So you’re skiving? Good for you, Cupcake.”

“Caitlyn.”

“Caitlyn. Cupcake. Whatever. So, let me get this straight: I broke into your house, and not only are you letting me rifle through your wife’s jewellery, but you’re giving me your name, too.”

“My identity is no secret,” Caitlyn says, wondering why she was stupid enough to give an undercity criminal her name. “How did you get up here? There’s hardly any trellising up the wall.”

“I know we just met, but I’m a little upset you’re underestimating me. So, what’ll it be? Am I free to go? You look like you’ve got your hands full. I can be out of your hair in, what, two minutes.”

Caitlyn doesn’t lower the gun, but she eases her stance. The woman has been edging her way back to the window while they’ve been talking, engaging Caitlyn purely to distract her. Caitlyn’s impressed. She would’ve noticed, had she been sober, but that’s neither here nor there.

“What’s your name?” she asks, not certain why she’s prolonging her conversation with the thief.

“Huh?” The woman’s nose crinkles in something like amusement. “I’m Vi.”

“Vi.” Caitlyn presses her tongue to her dry lips. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“It’s literally written all over my face, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn takes a step forward. The woman – Vi – starts, but wisely keeps her hands raised. Caitlyn squints, and there it is: the letters VI inked on the woman’s cheek, looking as much a part of her as the curious curve of her smile and the scar dug into her upper lip.

“Vi,” Caitlyn repeats. She lowers the gun entirely, finger leaving the trigger. “Are you hungry, Vi?”

Vi stares at her. Caitlyn rolls her shoulders back, eases open the shotgun with a deft, practised motion, and tips the shells into her hand. She slips them into her pocket, turns on the spot one too many times, and makes her way out of the bedroom. The wine’s caught up with her all at once, and her heart belatedly remembers to clench in panic.

She doesn’t say anything more. Either Vi will escape through the window or take her up on her offer.

She clutches the wide, polished bannister and focuses far too hard on not missing a single step. Behind her, Vi lets out a low whistle, then barrels past, taking the steps two at a time. Caitlyn doesn’t have to point her towards the kitchen; it’s the only source of light in the house.

“Damn, Cupcake, all this for me? You shouldn’t have,” Vi says, standing in the doorway, hands buried in her pockets. “Seriously, I’ve got to ask. Is this a Piltie thing, or have I walked in on a midlife crisis?”

“I’m twenty-eight,” Caitlyn says, pushing past Vi and heading straight for the clean plates on the side.

She places them on the kitchen island, pulls up a stool for herself, and unceremoniously stabs a fork into the lasagne. Vi stands, staring. At first, Caitlyn thinks she’s staring at her; maybe she is having a midlife crisis. The woman who was trying to steal from her – who has stolen from her – is in her kitchen, and all Caitlyn can think is that she didn’t get the ratio of white sauce to meat quite perfect.

What was in that wine? Was it Noxian?

Caitlyn takes a tentative forkful of lasagne and realises Vi is staring at the food, at the array of dishes on offer. She gestures to the plates and Vi shifts her weight from foot to foot before striking. She lifts the dish of coq au vin by its handles, places it on the table in front of Caitlyn, and gets to work.

Caitlyn reaches for a spare fork. It’s too late. Vi eats with her hands, sinking her fingers into the wine-dark sauce, hauling out chunks of chicken and bacon, tossing whole shallots into her mouth. The sauce stains the already dirty bandages wrapped around her hands, and Vi doesn’t bother wiping her face between mouthfuls.

“Goodness. Who taught you your manners?” Caitlyn asks. “If I’d ever pulled a stunt like that, I would’ve become the shame of my family. All of Piltover would know about it, and I’d be shipped off to Ionia.”

 Vi, mouth full, can only wink. She drags the lasagne over to her side of the table and sinks her hand into that, too.

“I ‘unno, Cupcake,” she says, chewing loudly. “You’re eating this out of the dish, in your pyjamas, slumming it with a trencher. Think that would piss off your parents, too.”

Caitlyn concedes the point and leaves Vi to devour the lasagne as no one has ever though to before. She finds her glass, half empty, and a clean one for Vi. She splits the last of the wine almost evenly, and holds out the drink to Vi.

“Nah, nah,” Vi says, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I gotta find my way back home. I can’t be stumbling around the rooftops.”

“Just a sip?” Caitlyn says, offering the glass again. “It really is quite a spectacular bottle, and it would be a shame if I alone experienced it.”

Vi looks between the remaining food and the wine, figuring she can offset any light headedness by defiling another dish. She takes the glass by the stem, tips it back, and wastes no time swirling or sniffing it. She polishes it off in one mouthful, licks her lips, and hums.

Caitlyn blinks, eyes leaving her throat.

“Well?” Caitlyn asks, sitting back down.

“Huh?”

“The wine. What did you think?”

“Oh, yeah. That sure was wine. Pretty good,” Vi says, prying more food free. “Not as good as this, though. You sure know how to cook, Cupcake. Your wife not gonna be hungry when she gets home, though?”

Caitlyn bristles at the words. She can’t say why. She stares down into her wine, considerably less appealing to her than when she was alone, in her own world, certain the night would last forever, and hums.

“They’ll feed her at the gala,” Caitlyn says, sitting straight, remembering her manners. “And she’ll be gone by morning.”

Vi tilts her head, waiting for an explanation. Were she sober, Caitlyn might consider this Vi’s way of prying information out of her, of giving herself another chance to ransack the house without interruption, but Vi’s eating has slowed and Caitlyn can’t question the curiosity in her eyes.

“She’s a merchant. For decades, most of what makes its way into Piltover has been at the mercy of her House. She travels, more often than not,” Caitlyn says, promptly remembering the wine in her hand. She doesn’t quite gulp it down as Vi had, but her chest burns with it. “She’s been in Piltover for a record-breaking three months. In truth, this gala is as much as a send-off for her as anything.”

Vi breaks apart some bread Caitlyn doesn’t recall being on the table and mops up the last of the sauce.

“And, what, you have a headache because you don’t wanna see her off? Don’t want to get all choked up in front of your fancy topsider friends and let ‘em know you have emotions?”

Caitlyn shakes her head. She shouldn’t say anything, but she’s spent so long pursing her lips and playing her part. She could never bring this up to anyone, not even Jayce, but Vi will be gone before she knows it. She’ll never see her again.

“I’m tired of hanging off her arm. Of being part of the decoration,” Caitlyn huffs.

Vi laughs once, loud and sobering.

“Yeah, that tracks. Trophy wife, huh?”

Caitlyn presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She can already feel the morning’s hangover manifesting in the deep reaches of her skull. Vi continues to stare at her, open, judging, so unlike the company she’s used to, and Caitlyn shakes her head. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about; she’s drunk, dealing with the aftermath of someone breaking into her home, and the whole world has started to spin around her.

“I’m tired of the parties. Of mingling. Three months of pretending as though I’d never been in a ballroom before, as though I’d never had such rich, delicate hors d’oeuvres in my life,” Caitlyn murmurs. “It’s vapid. Infuriating.”

Vi nods. She doesn’t press the matter further. They lull into silence, each lost to their own thoughts, and Caitlyn gives herself the chance to consider what exactly it is she thinks she’s doing. She pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes screwed shut in frustration.

“Hey. Since you’ve put your gun down, I’m going to help myself to leftovers,” Vi says.

The stool scrapes across the floor. Caitlyn says nothing as Vi makes herself at home in the kitchen, opening cupboards in search of something to transport the absurd variety of food across the counters in. She finds a suitable container, finally arms herself with a fork, and begins tipping food into it, letting all the separate dishes mix together.

Caitlyn slumps on the counter, head in her arms. She watches Vi turn the tap on as fast as it’ll go and stick her hands under, still bound in her wraps, and spare a few seconds to clean them. She shakes her hands dry, getting water everywhere, and turns to Caitlyn as she wipes her hands on the front of her shirt.

Caitlyn indulges herself in thinking that Vi might be caught off-guard, for the slightest moment. That she, too, might be struck by the absurdity of the situation.

The moment passes. Vi pulls the silver, ruby-studied necklace from her pocket and holds it out as though it might lash out at her.

“What’s this worth, anyway? Don’t want to get ripped off,” she says.

“Oh. Goodness, it is a beautiful piece, but it isn’t—Amelia keeps the truly valuable pieces in a safe. Twelve-thousand, I’d say. Don’t take less than ten,” Caitlyn murmurs.

Vi almost laughs. A dry hah leaves her mouth, and something cold trickles down Caitlyn’s spine. She sits up, hair falling into her eyes, and waits for Vi to tell her why she’s staring at her as though Caitlyn has never spoken sense before.

“Ten-thousand?” Vi repeats, raking a hand through her hair. “Fuck. You really think anywhere in Zaun will have the cash for this? I can’t exactly pawn it up here, I’d be sent straight to Stillwater, no questions asked. I guess I could break it apart. Pry the stones loose.”

Vi hums, holding it up to the light.

“No,” Caitlyn says, almost breathless. “No, you mustn’t. It really is a beautiful piece, and I’d hate to see it turned to scrap. Here. We can—I can give you something else. Come with me.”

Caitlyn has never considered confidence a key part of standing up, but when she gets to her feet, she realises she’s entirely bereft of it. She stumbles, arm hitting the solid warmth of Vi’s as she steps forward to catch her.

“Easy, Princess. Let’s get you upstairs, okay? You definitely didn’t need that last glass. Or the last bottle,” Vi says, veering her out of the kitchen. “You remember how stairs work, don’t you?”

“There’s no need to manhandle me,” Caitlyn says, holding her chin high, fingers missing the bannister on the first attempt. “Ruffian.”

“Yeah, yeah. This will make great conversation at your next fancy party,” Vi says, guiding her to the top of the stairs, one arm holding the vile amalgam of food, the other around Caitlyn’s elbow.

She falters on the landing, corridor splitting into countless doors, and Caitlyn nudges her towards the bedroom. She makes it to the dresser and holds out a hand, gesturing for Vi to return the ruby necklace to her.

Vi moves slowly, frowning, handing the silver and rubies she’ll never be able to pawn in one piece with a hesitant sort of trust. The food was good, Vi made that perfectly clear, but it isn’t an adequate trade.

Caitlyn puts it back in what she thinks is its rightful place, not expecting her wife to notice either way, but liking to maintain a certain order, and pulls open one of the drawers. She rifles through a tray of rings and brooches, uncertain where most of them came from, and finds what she’s looking for: a mess of chains, meant to be customised, to replace any that have seen better days.

“Here: this one should fetch one hundred,” Caitlyn says, handing them over one-by-one. “One-fifty, one hundred, ah, three hundred, easily. Feel free to mutilate these as your heart desires.”

The chains bundle in Vi’s hands, gold and silver shining against her dirtied bandages. It takes a moment, but Vi’s fingers curl around the offering and she shoves them deep in her pockets. With a nod to herself, likely having been out in Piltover longer than she’d planned on, Vi heads to the window. She puts the food down, shrugs off her jacket, and bundles the container in it, tying the arms so it hangs from her shoulder.

“Thanks, Cupcake,” Vi says, grinning over her shoulder as she hoists the window open. “It’s been real. Say thanks to your wife for me.”

Vi swings her legs over the windowsill and vanishes. One moment she’s there, the next there’s only the night sky, alive with the gala Caitlyn forgot was so close. She runs to the window, hands splayed on the sill as she looks out, and sees Vi in one piece in the gardens, hands on her hips.

“You can come back,” Caitlyn blurts out. “Six weeks. She’ll—I’ll have the house to myself for the next six weeks. If you find yourself in the neighbourhood, or—or if you’re hungry.”

Caitlyn sees the flash of pointed teeth in the dark as Vi grins, offering up a lazy salute before sprinting off and hoisting herself over the garden fence.

Caitlyn stares into the night, searching for a deft, dark shape moving over the rooftops. Her eyes won’t focus; all she sees is Medarda’s gala lighting up the skyline, the airship glinting high above.

It’s already a dream. Caitlyn closes the window but doesn’t lock it, and stands alone in the middle of her room. She looks between the bed, the door, and the dresser, and picks up the brooch Vi didn’t take. She toys with it, hands unsteady, and knows she can’t face cleaning the kitchen just yet.

She showers, forehead against the cool tiles as warm water beats down on her back, and promises herself she’ll appreciate it in the morning. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She doesn’t drink, not unless it’s a champagne flute being passed around at yet another self-important gathering, and she’s already humiliated.

The shame of sobriety has yet to sink in, yet she can’t stop chiding herself for letting an undercity thief into her house, for feeding her and offering up her wife’s jewellery. She doesn’t know what she was trying to prove, or why it was worth the risk; Amelia won’t notice.

She never does.

Caitlyn dries off and pulls on yet another nightgown. She tosses her stained apron into the hamper and cleans her teeth, scrubbing the lingering taste of wine from her mouth, not wanting it to stain. She grabs a few painkillers, tips her oestrogen into her palm, and swallows the lot together. She leans close to the mirror, pulling one eyelid down and then the next, not certain what she’s searching for.

Hair mostly dry, she gets into bed. She pulls the covers tight around her, thoughts swirling in incoherent circles as sleep takes her. Only the sensation of the mattress dipping next to her wakes Caitlyn. She blinks one eye open, seeing only darkness.

“Amelia?” she asks, voice groggy, barely above a whisper.

“Go back to sleep, dear,” comes a woman’s voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Caitlyn shuffles over, wanting to face her, but finds only her back.

She breathes deeply, inhaling a perfume Amelia never wears.

“Do you want me to see you off in the morning?” Caitlyn mumbles.

“That’s quite alright. I’ll be leaving early and wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

Caitlyn hums. She might protest, she might not, but it makes no difference. She reaches out a hand, but gravity pulls it into the space between them. Caitlyn sinks back into the pillow, letting sleep claim her.

When she wakes, daylight floods the room. The curtains are thrown open in a clear sign of Vi’s departure, and Caitlyn stretches out in the enormous bed, alone and bitterly relieved.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn dedicates the entirety of the next day to cleaning the kitchen. She can only work in twenty-minute bursts before her head screams at her to stop, and sits nursing cup after cup of tea between unsteady hands.

The night before comes back to her in pieces, chronology forgotten, and it would be so easy to convince herself it was all a dream, if not for the dried food smeared all over the counter. Caitlyn would never stand for it, were she sober, and she scrubs with a rough cloth, vowing to never let such debauchery unfold in her kitchen ever again.

She goes to bed early and sleeps fitfully. The bed smells of the perfume Amelia doesn’t own, and come morning, Caitlyn’s teeth are grit as her hands form fists in the bedding, tearing it away from the mattress and duvet. She meets with her parents that afternoon and is treated to two-hour summary of the gala, during which her mother bemoans how unfortunate it was she was feeling under the weather fourteen times.

Caitlyn counts.

Jayce comes over for dinner, their usual arrangement for a Thursday night, and he has much more interesting tales to tell about the gala. The conversation simmers into its usual topics – science, progress, Caitlyn’s supposed charity work – and Caitlyn listens intently, holding eye contact, wondering if she dares tell Jayce about her visitor from the undercity.

He’d only want to report it to the enforcers, get her parents involved and send panic throughout the neighbourhood, and rig some sort of experimental Hextech security to her bedroom window. She loves Jayce dearly and knows he only means well, but he’s reactive, wanting to fix the situation before taking the time to consider what Caitlyn needs.

Whatever that might be.

It’s five days before Caitlyn’s waiting amounts to anything. And she is waiting, though she doesn’t realise it until she hears a strange plink – plink – plink from upstairs. She lowers her book into her lap and strains to listen, thinking she imagined it. She holds her breath, and there it is: plink – plink – plink.

Putting the book down, Caitlyn glances to the cabinet where the shotgun is safely locked inside, and decides against it. She takes the stairs up slowly, hand gliding heavily up the bannister. She’s spent most of the day in the city centre, talking to politician after politician about redirecting certain funds towards good causes, and hasn’t changed out of the navy suit she wore, though the jacket is hung over the back of her reading chair.

She eases her bedroom door open, turns on the light, and braces herself for a welcomed intruder. There’s no one there. She waits a moment, and there’s the plink again as a tiny stone chimes against her bedroom window.

Biting back a smile, she hoists the window open and leans out.

Vi stands with her hands dug in her pockets, staring up at Caitlyn.

“You are aware of how front doors work, aren’t you?” Caitlyn asks. “I assume they’re a staple of Zaun as well as Piltover.”

Vi crinkles her nose, but Caitlyn can’t make out much more of her expression in the dark.

“You don’t want all your fancy neighbours seeing me track mud through your front door,” Vi says.

“Touché.”

Vi takes a few wide, measured strides back. She bounces on the balls of her feet, then without warning, charges towards the wall, kicking off the window sill below, finding purchase on drainpipe, and scrambling up an awning to reach Caitlyn’s bedroom. Caitlyn barely has time to scramble back.

She takes one of Vi’s arms, offering help she absolutely doesn’t need to clamber through the window, then stands back.

Vi rakes her hair back into place and dusts off her knees. She’s wearing the same outfit as she did the last time – ripped jeans with a red jacket over a tank-top, all of it dirtied – but with the no firearms or empty wine bottles between them, Caitlyn can get a proper look at her.

She almost exactly fits the image Caitlyn had in her mind. The broad shoulders, the tough, practical clothing, the scar on her lip and her stormy, grey eyes; it’s all there, though there’s a certain softness she hadn’t looked for in Vi’s face the last time. Freckles dust her cheeks, just below the eyes, and the mischief behind her smile isn’t the vicious sort.

Catching her staring, Vi preens a little and says, “Miss me, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn folds her arms, arching one brow.

“Speaking of tracking mud through my house, you’ll have to remove those if you want to come any further,” Caitlyn says, eyes dropping to her beaten boots. “It took me hours to clean the carpets last time.”

“You don’t have servants for that?” Vi asks, ducking down to unlace her boots.

“I don’t, thank you very much. No, no, don’t leave them there—put them on the windowsill, since that’s how you like to make your exit,” Caitlyn says.

Vi does as asked with little fanfare and says, “Wow. Someone sobered up.”

A slight shudder runs through Caitlyn at the mere mention of her inebriated state. She closes her eyes, banishing the phantom of a headache.

“About that. I’d sincerely like to apologise for both my behaviour and appearance that night. I was not at my best, nor was I thinking clearly; I would hate for your unfortunate first impression of me to linger, and I am frankly appalled at how terrible a host I was,” Caitlyn says, hands folded behind her back.

Vi stares at her. Stares through her. She drops her hands to her hips and laughs, and without the haze of alcohol muffling her senses, Caitlyn hears the sound as clear as a bell.

“Seriously?” Vi asks.

“Seriously. I am honestly embarrassed that we met under such circumstances. I assure you, I would never dream of entertaining guests with my kitchen in such a state, nor would I dare look as dishevelled as I did. Not only was I wearing an apron, but I had a dressing gown under it.”

“Hey. You clean up alright,” Vi says, gaze darting from Caitlyn’s loose, silk shirt, to her hair, neatly pinned up. “But you’re seriously apologising to me for what happened? Cupcake, I broke into your house. I stole from you. And here you are, worried about what you were wearing?”

“Excuse me for not being up to date on the etiquette for dealing with a home invader,” Caitlyn says, determined not to let her cheeks burn. “Well? How did you fare with my offerings?” 

Vi’s eyes flash. Her grin is back.

“Shit, that food was amazing. It kept us going for days,” Vi says. “Haven’t eaten that well in years. You’re wasting your talents in this big, empty house, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn allows herself a moment to take in the sheer joy on the near-stranger’s face before correcting her.

“I rather meant your ill-gotten gains, Vi.”

Vi’s so caught up in the memory of food that never ought to have mixed that it takes her a second to catch Caitlyn’s meaning.

“Oh! You weren’t wrong about what they were worth. Got six-hundred all in all, and you’re looking at someone who’s pretty much debt-free. Well. Free of the added interest part of the whole deal, but who’s keeping score?”

Vi talks about her debt as though it’s nothing. As though it isn’t a secret everyone knows and no one speaks of, something to always keep hidden, letting it gnaw away at you from the inside. She speaks of debt as if there is no moral component; as if it is a pure misfortune, not something she has brought on herself.

Caitlyn shakes her head. It isn’t any of her business, and Vi’s blunt honesty is refreshing.

“Hungry?” Caitlyn asks.

The kitchen is sparkling, and Caitlyn intends to keep it that way. Vi lingers in the doorway, allowing herself to get a better look around the house now there’s neither firearms nor alcohol involved, and Caitlyn imagines she must feel out of place.

She is out of place. For all the days she has spent wondering if Vi would return, the pair of them are nothing but strangers. Caitlyn didn’t plan on anything to say, beyond her apology, and as a Zaunite, the opulence around her must make Vi sick to her stomach.

“Come,” Caitlyn says, waving her into the kitchen. “Take a look around. I’ve yet to eat myself, so let me know what you’d like.”

Vi shuffles across the tiled floor. One of her toes pokes out of a sock that’s seen better days. She pushes herself onto tiptoes, craning her neck at cupboard doors, only reaching for a handle when Caitlyn gives a slight, affirmative nod.

Her bravado seems a thing of the past, if it was ever there at all. Caitlyn expects she projected it onto her.

Vi peers into the cupboards. Her brow furrows, eyes darting between the dried goods, the jars of sauces, the tall, clear bottles of seasoning. She moves to one corner, then the next, tongue running over her dry, chapped lips, blinking and blinking and blinking.

She opens the fridge and mutters under her breath as she begins sorting through the fresh goods.

“It’s just you here, right? There’s really—shit, there’s a lot of food here, Cupcake. How am I meant to choose?” Vi says.

She tries to laugh but it comes out hoarse.

Caitlyn places a hand on Vi’s arm, taking her place before the fridge. She pulls a few things out, the makings of a quick, filling meal, and sets them on the counter.

“You said the food you took kept us going for a few days,” Caitlyn says, pulling out a chopping board. “Who did you mean?”

Vi continues to inspect the cupboards, quickly closing them with an overwhelmed shake of her head. She glances over at Caitlyn, chopping vegetables into neat, precise chunks, and chews on the inside of her mouth.

“It’s alright if you have a wife, Vi,” Caitlyn says. “You wouldn’t be the only one.”

Vi rubs her nose with the back of her hand.

“Nah. It’s just me and my little sister,” she says.

She offers no more information and Caitlyn doesn’t push. Caitlyn’s heard a hundred horrendous stories about life in the undercity, in the fifteen-year-young nation of Zaun, and not all of them can be sheer exaggeration to suit a political motive. She leaves Vi and her sister to their privacy and belatedly remembers to offer her guest a drink.

Vi leans her elbows on the counter as Caitlyn prepares dinner, occasionally passing things Caitlyn points to. Caitlyn begins to realise what a terrible idea this truly was, born of wine and playful spite, but assures herself the evening will only be awkward, not dangerous.

While dinner cooks, Vi finds her nerve and starts wandering. She pokes her head into room after room, only intruding on the dark, empty spaces when she comes across the main living room. She flicks the light switch, appears surprised it works, and strolls around the room, hands in her pockets.

It is not an extravagant room, by the standards Caitlyn is used to. Her mother never fails to recommend an interior decorator any time they take tea in there. Two large sofas sit opposite one another, fabric dyed a deep, forest green, with an oak table so well cared for it reflects the lights above between them. Tall, arched windows look out onto the gardens, though little can be seen of them in the dark. Vi turns her attention to the glass cabinets of trinkets, clever eyes assessing their worth, and quickly turns to the framed photos on the mantelpiece.

She reaches straight for the one Caitlyn hoped her eyes would skim over.

“This your wife?” she asks, after staring at it for long, silent seconds.

She turns the photo for Caitlyn to see. It was taken three years ago, on her family’s annual trip to their Holdrum lodge. Her and Amelia sit huddled before a roaring fire, faces still red with the cold outside.

“That would be her,” Caitlyn says, taking the photo and putting it back in its place.

“Hey, she’s pretty hot. Nice work, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn doesn’t laugh.

“Does she do this a lot? Leave you alone here?” Vi presses. “You said six weeks, right? That’s a lot of time to go stir-crazy in this big, shiny house.”

“As I said, she travels for work.”

Vi hums. She says nothing more but doesn’t drop the topic. Caitlyn mutters something about checking on dinner, and Vi follows close behind, almost stepping on her heels.

“You know, I have this buddy,” Vi says, leaning against her chosen spot on the counter. “And he says you do things differently up here. Not that that’s news to me, Piltover and Zaun are like night and day, chalk and cheese, but your politics are a lot more drawn-out. We cut throats, and you guys just—eh. You get it. It’s political, right?”

Caitlyn crouches in front of the oven, staring down at dinner. The heat wafts out, and she tells herself it’s to blame for her burning face. She doesn’t owe Vi anything, least of all answers. Her questions are absurd; all she has to go on is one drunk evening together, a planned absence, and a photograph.

Caitlyn says nothing. Vi presses on.

“It would be, with you being a Kiramman and all. A Councillor’s daughter; gotta make a good match for that,” Vi says. Caitlyn turns from the open oven, still crouched on the floor, and sets her jaw. “That’s what I don’t get about topsiders. Your family’s loaded, her family’s loaded, so you get together and form one super-rich offshoot. But if you were loaded and you married someone without a single coin to her name, you’re still rich, only you’re providing for some poor in-laws. Everyone benefits. 

“I didn’t go to some fancy school, or any school at all, so maybe I just don’t get it.”

Caitlyn removes their dinner from the oven and begins dividing it evenly onto two plates.

She tilts her head towards the island, waits for Vi to take a seat, and places the food before her.

“How do you know I’m a Kiramman?” Caitlyn asks.

“What? You think I’d break into a house this big without doing my research first? Gotta say, you weren’t what I was expecting,” Vi says, doing Caitlyn the honour of reaching for a fork, this time.

“And what were you expecting?” Caitlyn asks, taking a seat opposite her.

Vi shovels food into her mouth, hums around the fork, and Caitlyn almost forgets what they’re talking about.

“I was expecting you to be at the gala,” Vi says, grinning.

Caitlyn can’t force down the urge to roll her eyes. She lets her shoulders drop and digs into her own meal. There isn’t a soul in Piltover who doesn’t know who she is, doesn’t know what her family means, and she isn’t certain why she thought she could keep that from Vi. Why it would matter if she did.

Caitlyn pushes her food around her plate. Vi eats fast, so fast it must hurt, but Caitlyn stops short of chiding her for her table manners. Vi glances around as she eats, eyes flashing, the hand that isn’t holding the fork curled into a fist; she’s grown up in a world where if she didn’t eat fast, she didn’t eat at all.

“You’re right. Things are different here,” Caitlyn eventually offers. “Matches are made for us, and our choices are limited. There is a political edge to nearly every aspect of our lives, but that doesn’t mean that we—that I…”

She clears her throat and frowns down at her plate.

“Hey, no, don’t listen to me. I was just being a dick,” Vi says. “None of my business what goes on in your marriage, alright?”

Caitlyn nods, drawing out her dinner. She expects this will be Vi’s last visit, and though she has nothing to say to the woman, she enjoys her company. She enjoys any company. She’s eaten more meals alone in her marital home than she has with someone across the table.

Once they finish, Vi insists on cleaning the plates. She actually does a decent job of it. Her attention wanders as Caitlyn tries to explain what it is she does with her time, never quite understanding it herself, and she hums and nods but doesn’t say much. Her gaze skirts to the window.

Not wanting to keep Vi from whatever else the night demands of her, Caitlyn takes out a container and fills it with the leftovers from dinner.

“Damn, Cupcake. I’m not going to make all of my jumps carrying this,” Vi says, weighing the container in her hands.

“It’s for you and your sister,” Caitlyn explains. “Do make certain it gets to her.”

Vi’s lips part in a mute huh. Caitlyn pats the top of the container as she takes her leave, and Vi doesn’t follow her. She waits at the foot of the stairs, watching Vi frown at the container in her hands, mouth twitching at the corner.

It doesn’t take long for Caitlyn to put the pieces together. The food isn’t all Vi’s come for.

“If you’re in need of something else to put towards your debts, Vi, there’s plenty in the bedroom. Come. You need to fetch your boots, either way.”

Vi shakes herself out of her thoughts. Her brow creases, fingers tightening around the container of food.

“No, no. That’s not why I’m here,” Vi says, almost offended. “Not that I’d say no to anything you have lying around, but that’s not—I, uh. Do you have medical supplies? Painkillers, bandages, that sort of stuff?”

Vi forces the words out. Caitlyn stares at her, but does Vi the honour of not asking why. She settles on a nod, stepping away from the stairs, and leads Vi to one of the downstairs bathrooms.

She finds a bag in an airing cupboard and kneels in front of the cupboard beneath the skin. She has plenty of supplies within: bandages, antiseptic, gauze, small, glass vials full of painkillers and anti-nausea medication, as well as suture kits and burn dressing. Caitlyn tosses the supplies by the handful into the bag and hands it up to Vi.

“That’s basically an entire pharmacy in there,” Vi says, only hesitating a second before taking the offering.

“My father is a surgeon. I’ve always plenty of medical supplies on hand. It’s no trouble at all,” Caitlyn says, before realising that Vi never said thank you.

Vi trundles up the stairs, thoughts clearly elsewhere. Again, Caitlyn doesn’t press. She finds a more suitable bag once they’re upstairs, an old rucksack from when she’d hike around Holdrum knee-deep in snow, and decants the supplies into it, as well as Vi’s food.

Vi sits on the windowsill, slowly lacing her boots up.

Her gaze keeps falling to Amelia’s dresser, then snapping back up.

Without a word, Caitlyn takes a small, golden ring from it, knowing it has no sentimental value attached to it. She presses it into Vi’s palm, knowing it’s her last visit.

“No, that’s—really, it’s—”

“Five-hundred,” Caitlyn interrupts.

“What?”

“That’ll get you another five-hundred. For your debts,” Caitlyn says.

She pauses before saying debts. Talking so freely sends a small thrill through her, and all at Vi’s expense.

“Seriously? Five-hundred for this? It’s nothing. Just shiny metal,” Vi scoffs, but slips it into her jacket pocket.

“It’s quite absurd, isn’t it? Us topsiders, leaving trinkets of such value lying around, mostly forgotten; why, we’re practically asking to be robbed,” Caitlyn says, mouth curling at the corner. “Take is as a memento, if nothing else.”

Vi sits astride the windowsill, one leg in the bedroom, one leg dangling out the window.

“A memento?” Vi asks. “Oooh, I get it. Yeah, okay. You’re done with all this. Can’t say I blame you—the come over whenever was the wine talking, right?”

Caitlyn grabs Vi’s arm. She doesn’t know why, beyond fearing Vi might drop out of the window, disappearing forever.

“No, no. Not at all. I simply didn’t want you to feel pressured to keep coming here. You really can visit whenever you please, Vi,” Caitlyn says, forcing a smile. “Other than Thursdays, that is. You’ll have to wait until gone nine, until Jayce has left. Our weekly dinners often drag on even later.”

“Jayce?” Vi asks, still chewing over Caitlyn’s other words.

“My brother, in a sense. Not by blood, but by the things that matter.”

“Hey, that’s cool. I’m not related to either of my brothers,” Vi says.

Caitlyn falters. Her hand is still on Vi’s arm, and the cool night air drifts into the room, making her wish she hadn’t left her jacket on her reading chair.

“You’ll come back, then? I’m sure you’re a very busy individual, but the offer is open indefinitely,” Caitlyn says. “Though limited on Thursdays, and only over the next five weeks.”

Caitlyn isn’t sure why she presses so hard. Vi is the one benefiting from this arrangement: she gets the food, the trinkets, the supplies from under her bathroom sink.

Vi reaches out, holding Caitlyn’s jaw in her finger and thumb for half a second.

“Sure thing, Cupcake,” she says. “Keep the window unlocked for me.”

Vi’s gone in a flash. Caitlyn grips the sill, leans out, and calls, “Please use the front door, Vi!” into the night.

Chapter Text

They fall into an easy rhythm. Vi doesn’t use the front door, but she leaves her boots on the windowsill without having to be asked. They eat together close to every other day, Caitlyn always cooking while Vi tells her stories from Zaun without sharing anything about herself. Caitlyn listens without prying, but never fails to find something to lecture her on.

Vi takes it all in her stride. She steals things, now and again, and Caitlyn pretends not to notice. It seems absurd that she should keep trinkets she never thinks of on high shelves and behind glass doors when they could make a tactile difference to Vi’s life; when they could buy her back some freedom from chains Caitlyn can’t conceive of.

Vi isn’t shy about asking for second helpings, though. She’s kept the rucksack Caitlyn gave her and never fails to empty the kitchen cupboards into it on the way out. Even tonight, when Jayce is sat across the table from her for their usual weekly dinner, Caitlyn’s cooked twice as much, on the off-chance Vi will swing by.

“Something’s different,” Jayce says, catching himself from spending the entire evening talking about his latest lab work.

Sipping her wine, the first glass she’s had in weeks, Caitlyn lifts her brow.

“I tried a different thickener for the sauce,” she says.

Laughing, Jayce says, “No, no. With you, Caitlyn. You seem—I don’t know. If I’m being honest, I’d forgotten you knew how to smile.”

Instinctively, Caitlyn bites the inside of her cheeks, keeping another smile down. She shovels a forkful of food into her mouth, chewing mechanically, and considers her options: shaking her head and telling Jayce he’s imagining it, or finally getting it off her chest.

She isn’t doing anything wrong, and she’s shared so many secrets with Jayce. She doesn’t have to tell him about the breaking and entering, doesn’t have to mention the jewellery that’s gone missing. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll understand.

“I made a new friend,” she ventures.

Jayce stares at her across the table. He puts his fork down and wipes his hands on a napkin.

“What’s her name?” he asks.

Caitlyn didn’t know a single pronoun could carry such deep, scathing insinuation.

“It isn’t like that. She’s a friend, really,” Caitlyn says. “We have dinner. We talk. She leaves. That’s all.”

Jayce draws a deep breath. Caitlyn’s toes curl in the carpet and she drops a hand beneath the table, gripping the edge of her seat.

“I’m not judging you, Caitlyn. And I really mean it—you seem different. You seem happy. There’s been a spark in your eye these last few weeks, and you deserve…” he falters, trailing off. “You deserve a lot. But I want you to be careful.”

“Careful about what? We’re friends,” Caitlyn repeats, teeth clamped together.

“I already said I’m not judging you. But I remember how devastated you were when you realised Amelia was—”

“That was years ago,” Caitlyn interjects. “She lives her life and I live mine. So long as she doesn’t bring it into the house, it’s no concern of mine.”

Jayce brings his wine to his lips. He doesn’t believe her, but he isn’t going to say that. He doesn’t need to; Caitlyn doesn’t believe herself. She remembers the night she could no longer ignore what was so plainly before her, could no longer pretend that she was merely paranoid; she’s always been observant, has always known how to follow a trail and put two and two together.

She remembers shouting, crying. She remembers Amelia not defending herself, and then not having the decency to sleep in the spare room when all the yelling was over. She remembers Amelia’s hands on her, remembers kissing her as though it was the only way to draw air into her lungs, thinking that if she just tried hard enough, this would all go away, there wouldn’t have been other women, but—

But Amelia is always travelling for work. It’s none of Caitlyn’s business what happens outside of Piltover.

Jayce reaches over the table, squeezing her hand. Caitlyn gives a faint smile and is endlessly grateful when Jayce pivots the conversation around to Viktor and his latest triumphs over his own equations. By the time eight o’clock rolls around, they’ve both eased back into one another’s company, and Jayce has lost that worried look in his eyes.

“Thank you for doing me the honour of neglecting your work for a night,” Caitlyn says, seeing him off at the door.

“You’re the only one who can make me stick to plans. Even Viktor doesn’t know how you do it,” Jayce says.

He grins, pivots on the spot, but doesn’t head down the driveway to the automobile waiting for him. He wraps his arms tight around Caitlyn, pulling her close, and squeezes her in a way he hasn’t done since she was a teenager. Caitlyn yelps, but her hands find the back of his jacket and she presses her forehead to his shoulder, exhaling all the fear within her.

“I love you. You know that, Cait,” Jayce says. “And you can talk to me about anything, any time. No judgement.”

Jayce holds his hands in front of himself as he talks a few wide, backwards steps down the driveway.

Caitlyn raises her brow and says, “Go. Your driver is getting impatient.”

Jayce half-jogs to the car, gets in the back seat, and waves to Caitlyn from the window. Caitlyn leans against the doorframe, waiting for the car to start, and watches the dark street until the lights fade.

She stays there a moment longer, staring into the darkness, mind too full for the empty chambers of her house.

“Hey,” croaks a voice from the shadows. Caitlyn starts, bringing a hand to her chest in surprise. “When you said you had a brother called Jayce, you didn’t—didn’t say it was Golden Boy. Mr Hextech himself. You know they make—they make mugs with his face on, haaah…”

Vi drags herself up the stairs to Caitlyn’s front door. Caitlyn catches her elbows, keeping her steady. Vi looks up at her, fighting to keep her eyes open, and grins through bloodstained teeth.

“Sorry to burst in like this, but I couldn’t, couldn’t get to the window,” Vi mumbles, resting her weight against Caitlyn, forehead digging into her shoulder. “It’s silly, right? I came up here all the way from Zaun, but that last step was… had to wait for Super Nerd to leave, and…”

Caitlyn pulls Vi into the house, bolting the door behind her. She slings an arm around her waist, supporting her, and tries to take in the destruction before her: the black eye, the bloodied nose, the dark, wet stain spreading across her off-white tank top.

“Vi? What happened?” she asks, heart racing.

“It’s nothing, just—just need somewhere to…” Vi murmurs. “Hide out. For a few days. Didn’t want ‘em, didn’t wanna lead them back to Powder, and… hurts like a bitch.”

Vi’s voice is thin. She tries clearing her throat and spits a mouthful of blood onto the marble floor.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Caitlyn says.

“No! No, no—can’t. It’s fine, Cupcake, just a little brawl, nothing I can’t…” Vi says, letting out a long, low hiss. “No hospital. Not here.”

“My father is a surgeon. He’ll help you, no questions asked. He doesn’t have to know who you are or where you’re from,” Caitlyn says, stepping into her boots while she supports all of Vi’s weight.

“Haaah, what? How are you going to, going to explain you have a stray? Gonna tell ‘em I broke in, gonna—”

Vi has a point. A Piltovan hospital will ask questions, will want papers, and her father will have his own line of enquiry. Vi’s trusted her enough to come to her in such a vulnerable state and Caitlyn can’t let panic overtake her. She can’t let the sight of a little blood ruin the little routine they’ve built up.

“Alright. I’m going to take a look at your wounds, Vi, and if I think it’s safe, I’ll do my best to treat you here,” Caitlyn says. “But if I think there’s the slightest chance of any serious damage, any internal bleeding or infection, we’re going to a clinic. Do you understand me?”

Vi’s drops her head on Caitlyn’s shoulder and lets out a warm, relieved breath.

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

Caitlyn glances around. Lying Vi on the floor won’t offer her the comfort she so sorely needs, but it’s going to be difficult to explain the bloodstains on any of her sofas. Bedsheets, though. Those can always be stripped away and washed. Burnt, if needs be.

“Do you think you can make it upstairs? We can go as slow as you need to.”

“Anything for you, Cupcake,” Vi says, and puts a fairly convincing foot in front of the other.

Caitlyn grips Vi’s waist tight and holds the wrist dangled over her shoulder. She takes as much of her weight as she can and leads her up the stairs one at a time, eyes on Vi’s bloodied shirt, ensuring the stain isn’t spreading.

“Oh. Oh, you’re strong,” Vi says, shock making her voice light and playful. “Were you always this strong, Cupcake? All that—all that swinging guns around, huh?”

“Quiet. Save your strength. We’re not there yet,” Caitlyn chides.

Vi tracks mud and worse across the landing and through the bedroom. She walks heavily, favouring her left leg, and breath rattles out of her like she only knows how to exhale.

“On the bed,” Caitlyn orders.

“Sheesh, Cupcake,” Vi mumbles as Caitlyn half lifts her onto the bed, head falling against a pillow. “Get a girl dinner first.”

“I’ve been feeding you for literal weeks. Now, stay still. Don’t move, don’t sit up, and don’t see to your wounds yourself. I have to fetch supplies to get you patched up, but I won’t take long. Call me if you need me. Understood?”

Vi’s eyes roll back as she lifts her hips, hands pressing to her bloodied tank top. She nods through a hiss, and as much as Caitlyn doesn’t want to leave here there, alone with her agony, she needs to be practical about this.

Her medical supplies are extensive. Her father taught her to perform running skin sutures on sacrificial oranges when she was seven years old, and she has spent too much time around his hospital, attending lectures and observing ground-breaking surgeries, for her stomach to turn at the sight of a little blood.

She takes a leather bag from a hallway closet, gathers armfuls of clean towels and cloths, and runs warm water into a deep bowl. Vi’s still conscious when she returns to the bedroom, which is the most she can ask for, under the circumstances.

“Here. Let me know if I’m hurting you,” Caitlyn says, manoeuvring Vi so she can pad the towels beneath her. “Where are you injured? Is it just your torso?”

“Ah-hah,” Vi says in a breathy agreement, eyes screwed shut.

A quick glance at Vi’s legs tell Caitlyn she’s probably safe to worry about those later. Of all the stains on Vi’s jeans, none of them are fresh, and none are red.

“I’m going to remove your jacket and shirt. Is that alright?”

Vi doesn’t have the strength to make a joke of it. Caitlyn purses her lips together, regretting not dragging Vi to a hospital, and slips a hand between Vi’s back and the mattress. She eases her up enough to slip out of her conveniently red jacket, but Vi makes a strained, choking sound when she tries to lift her arms over her head.

Caitlyn takes a pair of scissors from her bag and cuts Vi out of her shirt.

Vi’s tattoos spread to the sides of her stomach. Sweat and dirt form a film over her pale skin, and she wears thick bandages around her chest in lieu of a bra. More importantly, there’s a five-inch gash along her stomach, as well as an array of broken glass dug into her side.

“Here. Take this, Vi,” Caitlyn says, lifting Vi’s head enough to press a small vial to her lips.

Vi coughs on the concoction but gets it down, grey eyes clearing within seconds. Painkillers of the sort aren’t often in home first aid kits, but her father had insisted she be properly stocked, when she moved out of her family home. It’s lucky, really; Vi’s going to need it for what Caitlyn has to do next.

She pulls on disposable gloves, and without meeting Vi’s gaze, presses her fingers against the main wound. Vi groans but doesn’t flail. Steeling herself, Caitlyn slips her fingers into the wound; it’s deep but diagonal, slicing a considerable chunk of flesh but not hitting anything else.

Caitlyn takes a wet cloth and cleans the wound, needing to get a better look at it. Vi hisses as antiseptic hits her skin, and Caitlyn hushes her, working fast and deft. She takes a pair of tweezers and pulls the glass shards free, each one clinking against a small metal dish, blood splattering against the sides.

She doesn’t meet Vi’s gaze. Doesn’t look any further than her bruised ribs. The last thing she needs is to lose her momentum, to start trembling.

“Shit, Cupcake,” Vi grumbles, words clearer now the painkillers have kicked in. “I’m not—not your first undercity guest, huh? And here I was, thinking I was special.”

“I’ve never had to do this before,” Caitlyn murmurs. “Not on a person.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

Caitlyn works as fast as she can, cleaning the wounds and pulling sutures through Vi’s injured skin, muscles pulling taut beneath her. Vi’s fingers twist in the towels beneath her, but Caitlyn knows that isn’t the first time she’s found herself in such a position; her torso is littered in scars, most of them poorly healed. Vi breathes heavily through her nose, groans catch in the back of her throat, but she’s an almost perfect patient.

Caitlyn hates that. She hates that this is just another part of Vi’s life she knows nothing about.

“Listen. Cait. I’m gonna—I’m gonna ask this. Don’t get, don’t get all—all offended,” Vi says as Caitlyn closes the largest of her wounds. “Can you get me—if I could just get a drop of shimmer...”

Caitlyn’s hands falter for the first time. Her eyes dart up to Vi’s face and she sees that it isn’t a joke.

“I don’t have access to shimmer,” Caitlyn says, keeping her tone neutral.

“Yeah, but—but I know half of it ends up topside, you guys… you guys have connections, and, and—” Vi closes her eyes and plasters her hands against her face. “One drop. It’ll close these wounds, and—fuck, I think my ribs are broken.”

Caitlyn finishes her work. She keeps her mouth drawn into a tight, flat line, keeps her focus on the skin pulling together beneath her fingertips. The shimmer epidemic has united Piltover and Zaun that last decade, and Caitlyn has seen first-hand what it does to people. She’s worked with charities focusing on rehabilitating people, but in so many cases, it’s a matter of when it will kill you, not if.

“I’m sorry, Vi,” she says softly. “You’ll have to settle for stitches.”

“Yeah,” Vi says, voice muffled by her hands. “Stupid suggestion. Sorry.”

“You’re in pain. It’s understandable,” Caitlyn says.

Her stitches hold. Vi is onto something with her ribs, if the bruises spreading across her skin are anything to go by. Caitlyn retreats to the bathroom, pours the bloodied water away, and cleans the bowl. She drops the stained cloths into the hamper, and makes the mistake of meeting her reflection in the mirror.

Her face is ashen. Blood covers her fingers, and splatter has made it onto the line of her jaw. She takes a deep breath, but it’s too late. She barely manages to turn the taps on as fast as they’ll go before she doubles over the toilet and retches into it.

 Her hand shake. She spits the foul taste out of her mouth, closes her eyes, and counts to ten. She gets ten seconds, and then she has to go back out to Vi. Caitlyn splashes cold water on her face, cleans her teeth, and scrubs and scrubs at her bloodied hands and arms.

She heads back into the bedroom with another bowl of warm water and clean cloths draped over an arm.

Vi’s still flat on her back, hands covering her face, but her chest rises and falls easily. Caitlyn climbs onto the bed, sitting close to her, and lets Vi drop her hands in her own time. Her eyes are glassy, the painkillers taking full effect, and Caitlyn can barely see the VI tattoo for all the blood and grime.

“My hero,” Vi says.

“You say that now, but I doubt you shall find me so merciful once you’ve made your recovery. Here,” Caitlyn says, bringing a warm, damp cloth to Vi’s face. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Caitlyn places a hand on Vi’s cheek, steadying her as she gently wipes the blood and dirt from her face.

“Ah. You should—you should see the other guy, Cupcake,” Vi says, forcing a grin.

“I’m afraid that won’t work.”

Caitlyn doesn’t push again. She gives Vi time to chew her answer over, and continues to work diligently and lightly, moving away from Vi’s bruises whenever her face twists in pain. Finally, Vi relaxes enough to lean into Caitlyn’s touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“I got too comfortable,” Vi says. Caitlyn tilts her head a little, wiping along her jaw. “That ring—didn’t get as much for it as you said, but close enough. I’m not used to having all that money, Cupcake. I let it go to my head. I thought, fuck it, why should I hand this all over straight away? Why not live a little? So I went to a bar, got myself a drink, and fucking Sevika turns up.”

“Sevika?”

“Mm. Loan shark who likes collecting her own debts. She asked me where I’d got the money for my drink, and I told her to fuck off,” Vi says.

“That doesn’t seem wise.”

“No shit. But I figured, I’d just given her a shitload of cash. Surely she could let me have this, and sometimes, fuck off is the only way you can get Sevika to listen to you. But, heh. She wasn’t in a listening mood. Got her goons to drag me out of there and smashed my own glass over my ribs. Kicked me about and took the last of my money,” Vi says. “It’s—whatever. It happens.”

Caitlyn leans closer, working on a thin cut beneath Vi’s eye. She feels Vi’s breath on her face, tainted by a foul mixture of the drink she didn’t get to enjoy and thin, coppery blood.

“Things like this don’t just happen. It was awful and you have every right to feel outraged that you were met with such brutality,” Caitlyn says softly. “But you managed to escape? You said you didn’t want to lead them back to—Powder, wasn’t it? Is that your sister?”

Vi’s eyes widen. Caitlyn leans back, dipping the cloth back in the warm water. It seems Vi will trust Caitlyn with her torn, bloodied flesh, but not with her sister’s name.

“Fuck. Yeah, that’s her. Don’t want them taking my stupidity out on her,” Vi mumbles. “Fucking debt collectors.”

Caitlyn brushes Vi’s hair from her face, working out what dried blood she can. Vi will need a bath, once she can bear to move, but for now, Caitlyn will do all she can to make her comfortable.

“Might I ask how you accrued your debts?” Caitlyn asks.

She knows how debts are born in her world: unfortunate investments, bets that never pay off, indulgences that become addictions, and blackmail that spirals out of control. The same might ring true in Zaun, but for all Vi’s talk of shimmer, Caitlyn fears it’s something far more benign than that.

“Oh, y’know. Rent, food. Bills. Protection. It all, all adds up. Then Powder, she’s not always doing so great. That’s why I needed those supplies that one time, that was such a help, but—fuck, Caitlyn. I don’t think it’s supposed to be this hard.”

Caitlyn runs the cloth across Vi’s shoulders and down her upper arms in what she helps is a soothing motion.

For the first time in her life, she considers marching into Zaun and laying her family’s wealth at the feet of this Sevika, offering twice as much as she’s demanding, just for her to leave Vi alone.

“She wouldn’t let you pay up? Or did you not give her the opportunity to make the offer?” Caitlyn asks softly.

“I tried. She doesn’t care about the money, Cait. She cares about what she can get people to do to get hold of it,” Vi says. “Would’ve thrown it in her face if I thought it would make a damn bit of difference. Don’t know what was wrong with her this evening, though. She usually compromises, usually lets me pay it off in other ways, but shit, she came out looking for a fight.”

“Other ways?” Caitlyn asks, feeling goosebumps blossom across her arms.

Vi hums, turning her head away.

“She’s a fucking freak,” she murmurs. “Only time she doesn’t do her own dirty work is when she can watch someone else do it.”

Caitlyn says nothing more. She keeps her focus on her hands, on cleaning Vi as gently as she can, and doesn’t ask any more questions. Her curiosity can be damned: Vi’s comfort comes first. Eventually, Vi begins to relax beneath her. Her eyes flutter closed and she rests a hand on Caitlyn’s hip as she works, keeping herself anchored.

Putting the cloth down, Caitlyn begins unwrapping the bandages around Vi’s hands. Vi’s grip tightens on her hip but she doesn’t pull away. The bandages come loose and Caitlyn’s breath catches in her chest; these aren’t new wounds, but Vi’s hands and forearms are a mess of deep, purple scars, a web of fractures that never healed properly.

“Loathed though I am to admit it, I believe you were right. Most of your wounds were superficial – if not incredible painful – and I doubt you’ll have need of a hospital. You will, however, have to rest for at least a handful of days. I don’t want you undoing all my hard work,” Caitlyn says.

Vi doesn’t answer. Her hand falls from Caitlyn’s hip.

Caitlyn begins clearing her supplies away, washing and drying them in the bathroom. She eases the towels out from under Vi, knowing she isn’t going to bleed through her mattress, and helps her shuffle under the covers. Vi’s eyes don’t open once.

Heading downstairs, bedroom door left open, should Vi need her, Caitlyn finds herself before a messy table: cutlery piled on plates, wine glasses holding a few, precious drops at the very bottom, napkins crumpled with use. Caitlyn rubs at her temples. Dinner with Jayce couldn’t have been that evening; it couldn’t have been mere hours ago.

Vi’s beautiful, torn skin under her fingers feels like the only real thing in her world.

Still, she clears the dinner things away. She wipes down the table, puts away the candles, and washes the dishes. Taking out a tray, Caitlyn arms herself with supplies: the largest pitcher of water she can find, a glass of cold, smooth orange juice, and a plate of plain, easy to stomach biscuits. Vi needs fluids more than she needs food, but Caitlyn doesn’t want her stomach aching on top of everything.

She takes the tray up, leaves it on her bedside table, and tells Vi it’s there for her. Vi grunts in acknowledgement, and Caitlyn leaves her to shower.

The water runs red, then clear. Caitlyn scrubs at her face, her arms, shuddering under the warm water, and wonders what would happen if Amelia were to come home early and find a wounded woman sprawled out in her bed.

Caitlyn wishes she could care. Would Amelia shout at her? Would she look at her?

That might be worth something, if she wouldn’t have the enforcers there in a flash.

Caitlyn dries off and pulls a robe around herself. She could stay under the hot water forever, but doesn’t want to leave Vi alone much longer.

Vi’s staring at her as she steps out of the en-suite, eyes glazed with pleasant thrum of the drugs drowning in her veins.

“I’m sorry for turning up like this. I know you didn’t sign up for it, but I… I didn’t know where else to go,” Vi murmurs. “Shit, I don’t know how I made it up here. Adrenaline, probably. But now this is your mess, and my blood’s all over your fancy house.”

“Hush, Vi. You need your rest. Did you have any of the biscuits? They’ll help settle your stomach,” Caitlyn says, brushing her wet hair through.

Vi doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look away. A faint smile threads across her face, juxtaposed against the black eye, the bruised nose that isn’t broken, but wasn’t set properly the last time it was.

Caitlyn perches on the edge of her bed. It isn’t her side, since she instinctively dragged Vi there. A small shift in perspective and the whole room looks different; for a moment, Caitlyn feels like a stranger in her own bedroom.

“You’re not gonna go anyway, right?” Vi asks, eyes heavy, voice but a murmur. “Don’t wanna kick you out of your own room, Cupcake…”

Caitlyn shuffles across the bed, propping herself up against pillows that see so little use.

She runs her warm, clean fingers through Vi’s tangled, filthy hair and says, “I’ll be right here, Vi. Get some rest, won’t you? You’re going to be sore, come morning, and we don’t want you tired, on top of all that.”

Chapter Text

Vi spends two solid days in bed, only venturing out from under the covers to hobble to the bathroom. She moves stiffly, hissing with each pull of her muscles, but knows how to get the most from her body when it’s battered and bruised. She discards her jeans in a pile on the floor and Caitlyn takes the chance to grab them, washing them with her red jacket.

Her tank top is beyond salvageable. Caitlyn burns it in the sitting room fireplace, blood and cotton turning to ash and soot.

When her head begins to clear, Vi unwinds the bandages from her chest and blindly throws them across the room. She mutters something about it being uncomfortable as she settles beneath the blankets, face nuzzling into the pillow. There is a strange, wild freedom to her: she has been ripped apart and stitched back together, put herself at the mercy of a near-stranger from another world, yet she makes herself at home in the enormous, soft bed that will never be hers, ensuring the sheets smell of blood and grime.

Caitlyn checks her over three times a day, not handing Vi the tray of food until she lets her ensure the stitches are holding and the wounds are clean. Vi’s appetite returns faster than Caitlyn expected it to, and by the second day, she’s calling hey, do you have any—can you make me some—? after Caitlyn.

Caitlyn can’t deny her. Not when her eyes light up at a simple cake, or a sandwich with more fillings than Caitlyn would’ve dreamt up. Vi eats as though she has to fill every corner of her mouth, tearing merciless chunks from whatever Caitlyn brings her, humming in appreciation, offering a thumbs-up.

Caitlyn doesn’t chide her about all the crumbs gathering in the creases of the sheets. She’ll definitely need to change those, and soon.

When she isn’t cooking or running errands around the house for Vi, Caitlyn props herself in a chair in the corner of the room, under the pretence of watching over Vi. She has a dozen excuses prepared for when Vi asks her why she’s hovering over her – it is her bedroom, after all – but the interrogation never comes.

Vi naps in fits and starts throughout the day. She eats, drags herself to the bathroom, and falls back on the bed with an oof. She talks about absolutely nothing, mind muddled by the steady stream of painkillers Caitlyn’s providing her with, and mutters under her breath about needing to return to Zaun; but not now, not while it’s late out.

“You read a lot, huh?” Vi asks.

All Caitlyn can see of her is two eyes peering out under a tangle of pink hair.

“When I have a patient to watch over, yes. I’m afraid my choices are limited.”

“Hey, I’m all good. You can get on with your life, go to your fancy luncheons and uh, what is it you do? For work? You throw money at people?”

Caitlyn closes the book around her thumb.

“I’m on the board for several charities. I help make the most of their limited funds,” Caitlyn explains.

“Right. So you don’t do the dirty work,” Vi says. “Anyway, seriously. You’ve been staring at that same page for half an hour. You don’t have to hang out here.”

Caitlyn’s mouth quirks at the corner. She may be watching over Vi, but Vi has few options for entertainment beyond watching Caitlyn in kind.

“I’m afraid I already let them know I was feeling under the weather, and thus unable to attend meetings for the rest of the week,” Caitlyn said. “I even sent the cleaner away, when she arrived for work this morning. I believe I did a commendable job of scrubbing your blood out of the carpets and floorboards, but I fear there’ll be some grim spectre of evidence that raises her suspicions.”

Vi props herself up on elbows, blankets bundling around her collarbone.

“You know how to use a mop?”

“Quiet, you, else you’re getting nothing but gruel for dinner,” Caitlyn says.

“I’ll go crazy if I have to keep my mouth shut, Cupcake. I’m starting to feel well enough to get bored,” Vi laments. “C’mon. Read to me.”

“Read to you?” Caitlyn repeats, warmth blossoming around her throat.

“Mmhmm. I could go for a good story. Something to think about other than having to drag myself home,” Vi says. She pats the empty side of the bed, luring Caitlyn over with a jerk of her head. “Don’t know if you’re aware, but this bed is comfy as shit.”

Caitlyn laughs. Try as she might, she can’t force herself to feel uncomfortable or inappropriate around Vi. She moves to the bed, leans against the pillows Vi has propped up for her, and opens the book to the first page. Vi shuffles under the covers, facing her, and as she reads, Caitlyn lets a hand fall to Vi’s bare shoulder.

Vi falls asleep with her face against Caitlyn’s hip. Caitlyn keeps reading aloud, hoping the words will soothe through sleep.

Caitlyn spends her nights in her own bed, albeit on the wrong side. It’s the logical thing to do: it’s her bed and she needs to be close, should Vi need anything. The bed is the size of a small city district, with room enough for two or three bodies between hers and Vi’s. And so Caitlyn sleeps on her wife’s side of the bed, under the covers with a near-naked woman, and doesn’t face the wall.

On the third morning, Caitlyn runs Vi a bath. She doesn’t add the bubbles or salts she would for herself, not wanting to risk irritating her wounds, but the water is still and hot, steam filling the bathroom and fogging the mirror.

Caitlyn finds Vi a shirt that more or less stands in for the one she cut apart, and leaves her cleaned clothes folded neatly in the bathroom, along with a new pair of socks.

“Don’t give me that look,” Caitlyn says from the en-suite doorway. “You need to peel yourself from my bedsheets and take a bath. I’ll be lucky if I ever get this stench out of my bedroom.”

Vi throws up her hands, sighs, and swings her legs over the side of the bed. Her legs are the only part of her that escaped Sevika’s onslaught, and even they are covered in bruises from her risky attempt to get all the way to Piltover with an open wound.

Vi rolls her right shoulder back and makes for the bathroom, body moving a little more fluidly than it has in days. She stares at the bath, as if not quite comprehending its use, and Caitlyn finds herself wholly incapable of closing the door and leaving.

“Use the shower, first. Rinse yourself off,” Caitlyn explains. “The bath will help relax your muscles. There are clean towels there for you, and you are welcome to use any products that catch your eye.”

Vi looks between the shelves of clear bottles with soft, colourful innards, the assortment of soap, the pumice blocks, nail files, jars of lotion, toothbrushes, tweezers, clippers, and frowns.

She freezes in the middle of the room, a little unsteady on her feet.

“Vi?” Caitlyn asks.

Vi glances over her shoulder, eyes bright under the pale orange lights above.

“What? Not going to help me clean up, Cupcake? I’m still in a bad way,” Vi says. “Don’t want to risk me drowning.”

Over the last few weeks, Caitlyn has learnt to hold back her sighs.

“Very well,” she says, stepping into the bathroom. “Shall we?”

She rolls her sleeves up. Vi’s eyes narrow in something adjacent to danger, but she cuts the moment short by rubbing her knuckles against her nose.

“Nice try, Cupcake, but I know you’re dying to clean those bedsheets,” Vi says, waving her off.

Caitlyn lingers for a moment longer than she has to. She leaves Vi to her privacy, then can’t hold herself back: she tears the bedsheets away, bundles them in her arms, and puts them on the hottest wash she can, machine full of detergent and softener.

Caitlyn leaves Vi to her privacy. She tidies what little there is to tidy downstairs and reads over the morning’s mail; there are no missives from Amelia, no profuse apologies for having to extend her absence for another week. Dully, Caitlyn realises she’ll have to start preparing herself for her return.

There’ll be parties to attend, stories to hear for the dozenth time, smiles to pretend she means. People will tell her over and over how relieved she must be to have Amelia home, and Caitlyn will bow her head, letting Amelia kiss her cheek and say something saccharine about home ever growing sweeter to return to.

“Caitlyn?” Vi calls from upstairs. The letters crumple in Caitlyn’s hands. “What the hell did you do to my clothes?”

Heavy feet move across the landing. Caitlyn gives Vi the time she needs to hobble downstairs, using the bannister for what may well be the first time in her life, and admires her from across the kitchen island.

Vi stands in the centre of the kitchen, arms held out, frown deeper than her wounds. She’s wearing her usual jeans, red jacket, and the black shirt Caitlyn found her, but Caitlyn barely recognises them. She barely recognises her.

Even with only a half-hearted effort at hand-drying her hair, the colour is richer, lighter, than Caitlyn has ever seen it. Her skin too is paler, softer, grime scrubbed away, and her jeans aren’t the navy-blue Caitlyn expected.

Only now that Vi’s dressed, now that she is engulfed in layers upon layers, does Caitlyn let herself stare. Only now does she take in the whole of Vi, not merely the wounds she’s been treating.

“I washed them,” Caitlyn belatedly remembers to say. “And saw to some of the tears.”

“Well, Cupcake, you’re better at stitching flesh than cloth,” Vi says, and taps her knee. “This? This needed a ladder stitch, not—not whatever you call this.”

“You made all the previous repairs yourself?” Caitlyn asks.

She hadn’t failed to notice the myriad of seams stitched into the fabric, the patches liberally secured across the lining, but the needlework had been finer than anything Caitlyn could pull off.

“Uh, obviously? What, think I have a personal tailor down in Zaun?”

“It isn’t that. It was very well done, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. I’m great with my hands,” Vi says, leaning on the counter.

Caitlyn does her the favour of ignoring the flash of pain that distorts her expression.

“Listen. Look. This has been great, Cupcake, really. You should look into the medical field. Your bedside manner is out of this world,” Vi says. “But I’ve got to get back to Zaun. It’s been, what, a week, and Powder must be out of her mind with worry.”

Vi’s whole face changes when she speaks Powder’s name. Caitlyn almost forgets to correct her.

“This is your third day here, Vi. It isn’t quite so drastic as all that,” Caitlyn says.

Vi’s lips part. Caitlyn watches a slew of arguments form behind Vi’s eyes, each trying to clamber atop the other, as the days in Caitlyn’s bed piece themselves together in something resembling a chronological order.

“Huh. What was in that medicine?” Vi asks.

“Enough to stop you barrelling out the window,” Caitlyn says. “Stay one more day. You need the rest.”

Vi needs more than a day – more than a lifetime, perhaps – but Caitlyn knows not to fight losing battles. Caitlyn wants Vi to stay for longer – she won’t think too hard about that – but knows not to push her luck, too.

Vi grabs an apple and sinks her teeth into it, considering the offer. Juice runs down her jaw. Caitlyn wants to wipe it away, knowing Vi won’t.

“I guess I was alright with thinking I’d been away for a week, and four days is basically half that. I’m buying myself back time,” Vi says, picking apple peel from between her teeth. “One more day, but only because you asked so nicely.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Caitlyn says, reaching for an apple of her own.

Vi hasn’t put her wraps back on. Caitlyn still has them soaking, hoping another few hours will get the stains out. Vi’s jacket covers her arms, her wrists, but Caitlyn doesn’t miss the purple marks on her hands, deeper than her tattoos, and the burns and scars that leave her skin raised.

Vi follows Caitlyn’s gaze. One hand tightens around the apple and the other disappears into her lap.

Caitlyn’s tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. An apology isn’t what Vi needs; a kind word might breathe salt into the wound.

“Would you tell me about her? About Powder?” Caitlyn asks.

Vi taps the apple against the counter.

“You don’t have to,” Caitlyn adds. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. I was only curious.”

Vi runs her fingers through her damp hair, purple mixing with pink, and cracks an apple seed with her incisor. Again, Vi trusts Caitlyn with her battered body, but barely the mere mention of her sister; for someone from the undercity, someone who lives her life always looking over her shoulder and ducking into alleyways, she certainly wears her heart on her sleeve.

“No, no. It’s okay. Powder, she’s just—she’s all I’ve got. Always has been,” Vi says, not quite meeting Caitlyn’s gaze. “She’s four years younger than me. Shit, she’s twenty-five, but I still treat her like a kid. She’s sharp as anything and so, so smart. There’s nothing she can’t fix. It’s always just been me and her, you know? Ever since she was four, we’ve been on our own. It doesn’t matter how shit things get for me, how much trouble I end up in. I know I’m always gonna drag myself back home, just to make sure she’s okay.

“She thinks I’m overbearing. Always acts like she doesn’t notice when I’ve been gone for five, six days. Still, that’s what big sisters are for, right?”

That look is back on Vi’s face: soft and light, eyes hazy, finding warmth and reason in the ruins around her. Caitlyn wants to reach out, to place her fingers on the strong line of her jaw, and not just to wipe the apple juice away.

She settles for propping her chin in her palm. She can see so many more of Vi’s freckles in the soft morning light, now she’s washed.

“Since she was four? Then you would’ve only been—” Caitlyn frowns. “You were a child yourself, Vi. And you were all alone.”

Vi huffs like Caitlyn doesn’t have faith in her.

“It wasn’t all bad. Our parents were part of the first rebellion, the one that didn’t get far, and they had friends who made it. Friends who’d look out for us, spare us what food they could, let us crash on their floor, give us errands to run,” Vi says, shrugging. “We had it a lot better than most kids.”

Caitlyn doesn’t know how to reply. She has no right to reassure Vi she can be honest with her, that she can bring down the walls she’s built around her brick by brick; she cannot fathom all Vi has been through, all Zaun has taught her and taken from her. She has never stepped foot in the newly liberated city, has never walked its streets; all she has is the decadence around her, the things Vi and so many were denied their entire lives.

“You could always bring her here. Powder,” Caitlyn says. “I’d be happy to cook for her, too.”

Vi laughs so hard she chokes on a mouthful of apple.

She bangs a fist against her chest, wheezing, “What? Powder would put a bullet between my eyes if I even suggested heading topside for anything other than a quick burglary.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here?”

Vi shakes her head.

“What does she think you’re doing with your evenings, Vi?” Caitlyn asks, unable to hold back the shadow of a smile.

“Oh, you know. Working. Hanging out with friends,” Vi says, tossing the apple core across the kitchen. It hits the tiled wall and bounces into the bin. “I might be your dirty little secret, Cupcake, but Powder doesn’t even know I’m stealing from you.”

Vi grins. Her teeth flash and for a moment, Caitlyn forgets the sight of them splattered in blood.

“You aren’t a secret,” Caitlyn blurts out. “I told Jayce. About you.”

Vi lets out a low, impressed whistle.

“So Piltover’s Golden Boy knows all about the Zaunite sneaking in your window. How’d he take that? Threaten to station enforcers around the house? Beg you to come to your senses?”

Caitlyn doesn’t mind Vi teasing her, but it doesn’t sit right with her when it’s at her own expense. Caitlyn isn’t scared of Vi, isn’t ashamed of what they’re doing, and isn’t due to have a change of heart any time soon. She should tell Vi all this, but—

But Vi is grinning, looking straight at her.

“He made several insinuations and seemed intent on misinterpreting the situation,” Caitlyn says.

She regrets it as soon as she speaks the words. Heat rises into her cheeks and she slips off the stool, muttering something about needing to get a start on lunch. She stands at the counter, opening a cupboard at random, completely unaware of what’s within.

The legs of Vi’s stool scrape across the floor. She feels Vi behind her a moment later, close, but not touching; one hand on the counter, mouth a few meagre inches from her ear.

“Insinuations, huh?”

Caitlyn bites the inside of her mouth. Vi waits patiently for an answer, not pressing herself closer, not touching her, and Caitlyn grabs a jar of paprika so she has something to hold.

Steadying herself, she takes a wide step away from Vi, moving to another cupboard. Vi keeps her hand where it is and leans into the counter, propping herself up, eyes following Caitlyn.

“He also said that I seem different. That he hasn’t seen me this happy in a long time,” Caitlyn murmurs under her breath.

She speaks as if unspooling a spell; as if by giving it a voice, she’ll grant herself the power to believe the words. Vi straightens up. She blinks, tables turned, and can’t find her tongue for a good, long moment.

“Well. Guess Science Boy knows you better than anyone, Cupcake,” Vi says, and there’s a soft puff of self-satisfaction in her words.

“Hm,” Caitlyn agrees. When she dares turn Vi’s way again, she presses a finger to her nose and says, “I don’t recall telling you to get on your feet. Go. Sit down. You need all the rest you can cobble together.”

Vi’s injuries get the better of her, and she reluctantly plays the role of the perfect patient. They spend the afternoon in the sitting room, sat on opposing sofas, and Vi drifts in and out of sleep as Caitlyn aloud reads without being asked to.

Part of her is afraid to ask what Vi meant by one more day. She doesn’t know whether it includes the night, or if she’ll make her escape once the sun sets. Caitlyn’s teeth worry her lower-lip and she never quite forms the question.

“Hey, Cupcake?” Vi ask, voice groggy, as she wakes from her fifth brief nap. “When’s she back?”

Caitlyn places her book in her lap, giving herself a moment to indulge in the farce that she doesn’t know who she is.

“The twenty-fourth. It’s currently the twenty-first.”

“Shit. Six weeks up already, huh?” Vi says, shuffling to sit up. “So, I mean. How do we—if she’s back, I can’t exactly—what’s the plan?”

“The plan?” the words tumble from Caitlyn’s mouth before she parses what Vi’s said. “Oh. You want to keep coming.”

Her words are low, quiet. Something in her tone leans closer to awe than surprise. For so long, the six weeks have not only marked Amelia’s eventual return, but the end of her evenings with Vi, too. She feared the novelty would’ve worn off for Vi, that trying to work around her wife’s presence would be more trouble than it’s worth.

Not that this has to be a secret. They’re friends.

Caitlyn is allowed friends, but—

But it’s so much more complicated for Vi. She doesn’t want to bring any more trouble her way.

“Oh.” Vi crosses her legs on the sofa, gripping her shins. “Right. Limited-time deal. I getcha, Cupcake. No worries.”

Vi’s eyes trace shapes across the ceiling.

 “No, no. Not at all, Vi. That isn’t what I was suggesting,” Caitlyn hurries to say. “It’s only that things will be somewhat more complicated, from here on out, and I didn’t want you to feel as though you were being messed about.”

“Getting messed around? For free food and shit to sell, and this big, fancy house to stomp around in? You’ve got some messed up ideas about my life,” Vi says.

Caitlyn’s heart stops pounding quite so ardently.

“Well. If you must know, Amelia works late on Thursday evenings,” Caitlyn says.

“How late?”

“Oh. Late. Sometimes she doesn’t come home at all,” Caitlyn says, expression entirely neutral. “She often sleeps at her office, you see.”

Vi’s face falls. Caitlyn’s eyes dart away, not needing the pity. She knows how absurd she sounds, how ridiculous it is for her to protect her wife’s reputation, whether to her parents or Vi, but she has her role to play. She has a balance to keep.

“Caitlyn, you can’t think—”

“I know. I know, Vi, so make this easy for me. Do you wish to come over on Thursdays or not? It will only be a temporary arrangement, of course. I doubt she’ll be in Piltover for more than a month,” Caitlyn says, commanding the conversation once more.

“Thursdays it is,” Vi says.

Caitlyn doesn’t ask Vi when she plans to leave. She doesn’t want to know. She packs a bag for her, food and medical supplies in equal measures, and changes the dressings on Vi’s wounds before showering for the evening.

Vi’s on her – Caitlyn’s – side of her bed when she emerges, blankets bunched up around her shoulders. Caitlyn gets into bed without a word, turns off the lamp, and sinks into the mattress, the darkness, the soft, rhythmic sound of Vi’s breathing.

She wakes in the early hours of the morning. A hand shakes her shoulder, and she sees a dark, indistinct shape bow over her through bleary eyes.

“Hey, Cupcake. Sorry to wake you. Didn’t want to disappear without saying anything,” Vi whispers, as though she hasn’t already woken her. “I’ll see you soon, alright? Next Thursday?”

“Mm,” Caitlyn agrees, wrapping her fingers around Vi’s wrist. One moment, just one more moment, and she’ll let her go. “Be careful. Don’t tear your wounds back open.”

“Only because it’s you asking,” Vi says, pulling away.

Caitlyn’s arm drops across the bed, fingers trailing after Vi. Her heavy eyes close and she hears the window open, hears boots hit the sill, as a gentle breeze makes its way into the room. The window thuds closed. Caitlyn stretches out, pulling herself across the bed.

Pulling herself back to her side of the bed, to the worn mattress; to the pillows she can wrap her arms around, pillows that smell of Vi.

Chapter Text

The front door creaks open. Caitlyn bolts upright, blankets falling away, not truly awake until she’s halfway across the bedroom. Trust Vi to start using the front door now; it’s only the twenty-second – the morning of the twenty-third, perhaps – and Caitlyn hadn’t dared hold out hope of one last unscheduled visit.

She gets to her feet, pulls on a dressing gown, and all but runs down the stairs.

Two voices murmur softly at the doorway. Caitlyn’s footsteps echo dully through the foyer as the front door clicks shut, ending the conversation.

The lights snap on. Caitlyn screws her eyes shut, momentarily blinded.

“Amelia?” she asks the figure stood between two suitcases.

Caitlyn’s eyes focus. Amelia unbuttons her coat and steps out of her shoes.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she asks, voice light.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Caitlyn murmurs. “I thought—I was worried someone was breaking in?”

“Through the front door?” Amelia asks, laughing. “You’re still half-asleep, aren’t you? Do you think you could help me with these, dear?”

Caitlyn nods, breath caught in her throat. She takes one of the suitcases, and in leaning towards Amelia, falters. She overcompensates, kissing Amelia’s cheek and pressing herself close.

“I didn’t expect to be home early. I’m as surprised as you are,” Amelia says, hand on the small of Caitlyn’s back as she guides her towards the staircase. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Not at all,” Caitlyn says.

Caitlyn places the suitcase by the foot of the bed. She keeps her gaze fixed on the wall behind Amelia as she talks, regaling Caitlyn with all the highlights of her trip, refusing to look at the dresser. One glance its way and Amelia will realise exactly how much has gone missing, those last six weeks. She’ll raise her voice. She’ll look at Caitlyn, and Caitlyn can’t endure that. Not now.

Caitlyn sees herself back to bed, at Amelia’s insistence. Amelia heads to the en-suite, door dividing them, and Caitlyn tucks her knees to her chest, heart struggling to pound amongst the sticky dread caught in her chest. Amelia came home early. She couldn’t come home at any time, could’ve seen—

What?

Caitlyn eating dinner with a friend? Caitlyn tending to someone’s wounds?

She’d find Caitlyn keeping secrets far better than she ever had, if nothing else.

Caitlyn bites the side of her fist, catching her breath. It’s fine, it’s fine; Vi is safe in Zaun, Amelia has never paid enough attention to the house to notice any small changes, and now Caitlyn no longer has to dread her wife’s return.

It’s all over and done with.

Amelia finishes up in the bathroom and climbs into bed. She sighs happily, glad to be off the road, and Caitlyn holds her breath. It’s all for nothing. Amelia doesn’t mention that the bedsheets feel different, or that her side of the mattress is more worn.

Caitlyn exhales heavily, eyes fixed on the pale streetlight that bleeds through the curtains. The window. Vi’s window. Vi could come through it any moment, could appear at any time; there’s nothing to stop her, no reason to believe she’d abide by any rules. She could see herself in while Amelia was downstairs, could cover Caitlyn’s mouth with her palm, pressing a finger to her own lips in a demand for silence, eyes glinting—

Caitlyn exhales again.

She shifts, back to the window. Days ago, Vi laid where she did and she took Amelia’s place, though she never turned her back to Vi. She listened to her breathing as she slept, wanting to ensure the wounds weren’t worse than either of them believed, and even when she’d drifted off to sleep, she’d felt Vi shift next to her.

There had been no divisions between them. Caitlyn hadn’t laid awake, wondering how her wife’s presence could make the bed feel emptier than it did on the countless nights she’d slept alone. She’d simply fallen asleep, deep and content, not appreciating it until now.

Vi had been so close. Caitlyn hadn’t done anything with it, hadn’t thought to, but one morning she awoke to find Vi’s sleeping face had shifted between their pillows, and her breath made Caitlyn’s dishevelled hair move along with it.

Caitlyn bites her lip. She reaches out, hand pressing to Amelia’s hip, snaking around to her stomach. The muscles pull taut, relax, and for a moment, Caitlyn fears it might work.

“Oh, dear, I missed you too,” Amelia mumbles into her pillow. “But I’m so, so tired. I haven’t slept in almost thirty hours.”

Caitlyn snatches her hand back. She bites back an apology, and turns her burning face to the window. Amelia says nothing more. Caitlyn can tell she isn’t sleeping, but she doesn’t ask if Caitlyn’s alright, doesn’t move to hold her.

*

“Let me get this straight,” Jayce says, halfway through their regularly scheduled dinner. “You want to change our evenings to Tuesdays?”

Caitlyn nods. She pours herself another drink, aware that she’s going to need it. She hasn’t heard a word Jayce has said all evening, hasn’t offered more than a mmhmm or really? to the conversation for the last hour, and doesn’t have the power to make it to the end of the evening and casually pose her question, as she planned to.

“Would it trouble you? With all the time you spend lost in your lab and books, I rather thought you no longer kept track of which day was which,” Caitlyn says.

“It isn’t a problem. We can do Tuesdays,” Jayce assures her.

Caitlyn hums into her wine, appreciative. Jayce spears another forkful of food, goes to take a bite, but ends his effort in a sigh.

“Do you remember why we picked Thursdays, Cait?” he asks.

“I thought it an arbitrary choice.”

Jayce stares at her. Into her. The food falls from his fork, but still Caitlyn doesn’t break. She won’t breathe a single word until Jayce asks her a direct, pointed question.

“It was because Amelia was busy with work on Thursdays, and you were utterly miserable with it. You spent all week dreading Thursdays, and even your pride couldn’t stop you from buckling and asking for company,” Jayce says in a low, rough whisper, as though Amelia, busy with the aforementioned work far from their house, could possibly overhear them.

Caitlyn swirls her drink. She knows her shoulders are squared, knows it isn’t a good look, but can’t force herself to drop them.

“It’s been years, Jayce. It’s not an issue anymore,” Caitlyn says. “This works for us.”

Or it works for Amelia, and Caitlyn understands the importance of the role she plays. Her role is in the limelight, at the galas and balls full of people who know exactly who she is, exactly what her name is worth; Amelia is rich, her family respected, but they aren’t Kirammans. She needs Caitlyn and her innate, expansive understanding of high society, needs her standing to elevate her own; what should Caitlyn care for nameless women in the shadows, scheduled into Amelia’s life like business meetings?

“Caitlyn. I know you won’t listen to me. I know you won’t hear what I have to say, anyway. You really deserve so much more than you settle for, and I…” Jayce’s brow knits together as he sees Caitlyn’s patience wearing thin. “Fine. We’ll change our evenings to Tuesdays. Which will leave you alone all Thursday evening and most of the night, which seems like the perfect opportunity for your friend—”

“Jayce.”

“For your friend to make her appearance. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn takes a deep breath, considering her options. As much as she’d like to snap, she knows she can’t push Jayce away. She’s going to need him more than even in the months to come.

“She is my friend. I’ve done nothing inappropriate,” Caitlyn says evenly.

“Then why won’t you—”

“She’s from the undercity. She’s a Zaunite,” Caitlyn interjects. “She’s in trouble with unsavoury sorts and I want to spare her the scrutiny of Piltovan society.”

Jayce takes a deep breath. He laughs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and a little levity returns to his features.

“I don’t know what to do with you, Cait. It was so much less complicated when you were sneaking girls into your bedroom for the obvious reasons.”

*

Caitlyn’s life returns to its former pace. There are countless lunches to attend, parties to prepare, and generous donations to publicly make. She listens to Amelia tell the same stories a dozen times, certain she knows them by heart, and cooks dinner for two most evenings. After every meal, Amelia says thank you, dear, that was lovely, and locks herself in her office.

She’s almost too busy to miss Vi appearing unannounced at her window, but the absence doesn’t go unnoticed. Anticipation holds her over, because she knows Vi is going to be there Thursday evening. She won’t have to waste her time wondering, wishing, hoping, cooking an extra serving on the off-chance that Vi choose that night to visit.

Still, as six o’clock comes, Caitlyn tells herself there’s always the possibility of it not happening. Vi might lose her nerve, knowing Caitlyn’s wife is back in Piltover. Something else might come up; hopefully something revolving around Powder, not Sevika. There are a dozen reasons it might not happen, a hundred reasons not to get her hopes up.

Caitlyn takes a long shower. She puts on a dressing gown, leaves her hair to dry of its own accord, and settles into the armchair in the corner of her room. She pours herself a glass of wine – just one, the bottle’s downstairs, unable to quench any growing anxiety – and tries to distract herself with a preliminary work report.

She reads the numbers over and over, taking none of them in.

A hand splays across the window. Caitlyn’s fingers dig into the pages, but she forces herself to remain calm.

The window slides open. Vi ducks in, barely giving herself enough room to manoeuvre, and places her beaten boots square on the carpet. She grins, hands on her hips, and for a brief second, Caitlyn knows Vi has been waiting for this moment, just the same as she has.

“Shit. Look at you, Cupcake,” Vi says, and the sound of her voice compels Caitlyn to sit straighter. “You look like some rich bitch who’d use me as a footrest.”

Caitlyn hides her smile behind her wine glass. She takes a measured sip and decides to hell with it; she drains the glass dry, eyes on Vi’s, and places it on her dresser.

“Well? On your knees, then.”

Vi’s whole face lights up. She rolls her right shoulder, never one to turn down a challenge, and closes the distance between them, boots still laced tight.  She falls to her knees, carpet softening the impact, and leans her head against Caitlyn’s thigh.

Caitlyn reaches down, fingers trailing through Vi’s hair. Her nails catch lightly on her scalp and Vi hums, appreciative.

“Hello, Vi,” Caitlyn says softly. “I see you’re a woman of your word.”

“Famously not,” Vi says, eyes fluttering closed.

They sit like that for a moment, neither say anything, content in one another’s company. Caitlyn only stops running her fingers through Vi’s hair to hook her fingers around her jaw, lifting her head to get a better look at her fading black eye, all the little cuts and scrapes she’d memorised, but are now healing.

“Vi?” Caitlyn dares ask after long minutes of her fingers brushing the nape of Vi’s neck, Vi’s weight rested against her legs. “Would you tell me about yourself?”

“Hm?” Vi asks, blinking her eyes open.

“It’s only that I’ve told you so much – too much, likely – about myself, about my world, and I realise I know so little about you. It’s strange. I am bereft of facts, of anecdotes and anything like a shared history, but I almost feel as though I know you,” Caitlyn says, and the words come so easily after all her carefully constructed conversations with the upper echelons of Piltover. “I’ve found that I’ve—well, I’ve missed your company, as though I’ve known exactly what I’m missing.”

Vi tenses. Caitlyn didn’t expect anything else. She continues running her fingers through Vi’s hair, thumb brushing the shell of her ear, until her breathing levels out again. Vi isn’t healed up, not completely. The journey there must’ve taken a lot out of her.

“What’s there to know, Cupcake? I’ve got idle hands and I eat anything you put in front of me,” Vi hums, making an offer out of her soft dismissal.

“There’s everything to know. How you spend your days, for a start.”

“Sleeping, mostly. All the good stuff in Zaun happens and night, and there’s this Piltie who has me scrambling over rooftops at all hours,” Vi says. Caitlyn gives her a moment, doesn’t press, and Vi turns her head a little, mumbling into the soft, thick fabric of Caitlyn’s dressing gown. “I do what everyone does in Zaun. I try to mind my own business and scrape by. There’s a lot I know how to do, a lot I shouldn’t do, and I find a way to make it work.”

“And what sort of opportunities arise for you in Zaun?”

“The bars always need bodyguards, someone always needs something moved discretely, either in Zaun or up here, and then there’s Babette’s. Plenty to keep me occupied there.”

“Babette’s?” Caitlyn repeats.

“Mm.”

Vi looks so utterly content, no longer so much kneeling as sitting, that Caitlyn almost doesn’t press further.

“What’s Babette’s? A bar?”

Vi laughs through her nose.

She looks up long enough to say, “I mean, there’s drink there. But it’s a brothel, Cupcake. You know what those are, right?”

“Yes, thank you,” Caitlyn says, voice an octave higher. “We have pleasure houses in Piltover, too.”

Vi shakes her head, silently mouthing pleasure houses as she nestles back against Caitlyn’s thigh. Caitlyn’s grateful Vi’s eyes are close again, certain she must be at the mercy of the wine she just finished off. There is no judgement within her, nothing of the sort. She only thinks that—she only imagines—that is, Vi, with her grey, clever eyes and strong arms—well, after all, anyone would be lucky to—

Caitlyn clears her throat. She’s fairly certain the worst thing she can do is derail her line of questioning.

“And—and how do you find that work?” she says, hoping her tone is neutral, not strained.

“Eh. Babette runs a tight ship,” Vi says, shrugging. “She’s got a section just for girls, and plenty of people know me. Plenty come back for seconds.”

“Ah,” Caitlyn says.

She’s sure they do.

“I could take you there,” Vi says.

When Caitlyn dares glance down, Vi has one eye trained on her.

“To a brothel?” Caitlyn asks, knowing she sounds every inch the sheltered, spoiled topsider Vi thinks she is.

“Sure. You need to get out more, Cupcake. You need to see what the world is really like, beyond these four walls,” Vi says. “It’s not like you have to do anything. You can just have a drink, smoke. Enjoy the sights and sounds.”

The thought of disappearing into the undercity with Vi, of being led by the hand into a world where no one cares who she is, where no one would give her a second glance, almost distracts her from the truth.

Vi is teasing her. Vi is doing her utmost to make her squirm.

“I should hate to bother you in your place of work, Vi,” Caitlyn says.

“Coward,” Vi says. She crosses her arms over Caitlyn’s knee and rests her chin on the backs of her hands. “You’ve never been to Zaun, have you? I bet your parents would have a heart attack if they knew you were talking to someone from the undercity. I bet everyone in your world thinks of it like that, huh—the trenches, the fissures, the cesspool under the City of Progress. Still. The place looks a lot better than it did with enforcers running around.”

Caitlyn drops her hand from Vi’s hair. Something in her voice has changed, something taut and sardonic she hasn’t heard before.

“I’ll come with you, Vi.”

Vi narrows her gaze, not ready to believe it.

“Truly,” Caitlyn pushes. “I don’t want this to be one-sided. I don’t want you to be the one always making the trek to an unfamiliar city. I want to see your world. I want to go somewhere beyond these four walls with you.”

Vi’s mouth quirks at the corner as her words echo back at her. Caitlyn’s chest constricts. Nothing but the pure, unfiltered truth has left her, but she hadn’t understood her own desires until she voiced then; she hadn’t realised she’d wanted, that Vi could exist beyond her mansion of empty, locked rooms, that there could be freedom for them both beyond Piltover.

“Alright. Don’t worry, Cupcake. I’ll keep you safe,” Vi says. “Next Thursday, then?”

Caitlyn doesn’t need Vi to keep her safe, but she doesn’t need to say that.

“It doesn’t have to be Thursday. I can venture out on any day, claiming I have some meaningless ball to give a speech at. Barring Tuesdays, of course. Those are my evenings with Jayce.”

Vi laughs, nuzzling her cheek against Caitlyn’s thigh. Caitlyn’s fingers find their way back to Vi’s hair, ghosting over the short, shaved side.

“You nearly got away with that, Cupcake. I’d almost forgot you had dinners with Hex Boy on Thursdays. Change that for me, did you?” Vi asks.

“I did,” Caitlyn says, not missing a beat.

Vi’s teasing falls flat in the face of honesty.

They sit together for a moment longer. Vi is content to remain on the floor, legs tucked under her on a plush rug, eyes closed, breathing slowing. Caitlyn could believe she’d fallen asleep; she doesn’t doubt exhaustion is a cornerstone of Vi’s life. She wants to give this all to Vi. She wants to offer her a place to rest, whether it be in her bed or in her lap, but her thoughts do not transpire into action.

She breaks the silence, biting apart her question, but not biting it back.

“When you said you work at—at the establishment in question, is that—well, is it a regular occurrence, something scheduled, or—recently, have you…?”

Vi pries one eye open.

“Want to try that again, Cupcake?”

“I was wondering, in light of recent, ah. Donations, I was wondering if you needed to engage in work of the sort.”

If the wine she downed had settled into her vein, shame burns out the last of it. She doesn’t sound like herself, and not merely because she’s tripping over her words. There’s an edge to her voice, a possessive tint that brings a lump to her throat.

Vi’s on her feet, rolling her shoulder, before Caitlyn comprehends the sudden movement. Her lap is cold, and Vi’s eyes dart to the window, mapping out an escape before she talks.

“Funny, Cupcake. Here I was, wondering if you wife had touched you recently,” Vi says.

There’s no jest in her voice. She doesn’t wrap her words to soften the blow.

Caitlyn’s stomach sinks. Her palms are clammy. Their reality comes closing on them, and Caitlyn knows how foolish she’s been for thinking the charade could last; how absurd it was to act like they were on equal footing, as though she isn’t making Vi the sole proprietor of her loneliness.

“I shouldn’t have said that, Vi. I don’t know why I said that, only…” Caitlyn’s fingers dig into the arms of her chair, but she doesn’t think getting to her feet will put Vi at ease. “I was worried about you. That’s all.”

Vi huffs. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, shaking out her arms, body screaming that she’s never figured out how to back down from a fight.

“Worried about me. So you asked about the sex work, not—not the bar work, where any drunk can smash a glass over my head, not lugging rock and ore around the mines, where every breath tears your lungs apart,” Vi says with a dry, humourless laugh. “At least the beds are soft in Babette’s.”

All Caitlyn knows how to do is apologise. She doesn’t explain herself to Vi, doesn’t try to make sense of all the frayed nerves in her fingers and chest, making everything from nothing, because she’d have to explain everything to herself, first.

“I’m sorry, Vi. I really am entirely ignorant when it comes to these matters,” Caitlyn says, slowly getting to her feet. “And somewhat protective, it appears, though you hardly need me to fuss over you.”

Vi watches Caitlyn approach like she’s going to lash out at any moment. Caitlyn moves slowly, eyes fixed on the boots that Vi really needs to take off, and places two plaintive palms south of Vi’s shoulders, thumbs finding her collarbone.

All the tension within Vi splutters and fails.

“I don’t mind it,” she says.

“You don’t?”

“I don’t hate it.”

Caitlyn hums. Her hands move across Vi’s shoulders, slide down her back, and pull her close. She embraces Vi plainly, no ulterior motives, exhaling each time she squeezes Vi’s strong, compact form.

Vi’s hands linger at the small of her back.

“She won’t even let me touch her,” Caitlyn mumbles into Vi’s shoulder.

“Fucking idiot,” Vi grunts, arms slipping around Caitlyn’s waist. “You really need to get out of here for a night, Cupcake. You deserve better than wasting away in this shiny shithole. You can’t keep getting down on yourself and necking eight bottles of wine while cooking twelve meals and jumping out at strangers with shotguns.”

Caitlyn eases herself back, hands on Vi’s shoulders.

“Pardon me, but what would you do if you stumbled across a stranger in your bedroom?”

“You think I have a bedroom?”

Caitlyn grabs Vi’s jaw. Vi keeps her expression perfectly neutral – as neutral as a cutting grin can be – and does nothing to help Caitlyn distinguish between teasing and the truth.

Caitlyn doesn’t know if Vi lives anywhere. She knows so little about Vi, but it doesn’t have to stay that way.

“When?” she asks.

“When?” Vi repeats, distracted.

“When are you taking me to Zaun? To your fine establishment?”

Vi licks her lips. Something adjacent to regret flashes in her eyes; she’s set forth the challenge, Caitlyn has accepted, and now she has to make good on her word.

“Three days. I’m gonna be busy for a while. You know, with work,” Vi says, accompanied by a raise of her brow. Caitlyn shoves her shoulder without pushing her away. “Sunday work for you, Cupcake?”

“I’ll clear my diary.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you by the bridge at sundown,” Vi says, words hushed and fast. “No one needs to see me sneaking you out of here, but I don’t want you taking a wrong turn.”

Caitlyn huffs a laugh. Who’s the protective one now? As she stands there, Vi’s hands resting neatly on her hips as though they were shaped for that very purpose, she realises how early it is; how much of the evening remains, and how they have to return to some semblance of normality.

Caitlyn pulls away. Vi has the nerve to pout.

“Don’t give me that face,” Caitlyn says, taking her hand as consolation. “I can practically feel your stomach rumbling, Vi, and I put off my own dinner in the hopes of dining with you. I need you sharp; I need you to teach me everything I’ll need to know about your world.”

Chapter Text

Through no conscious decision of her own, Caitlyn Kiramman has one of the largest clothing collections in the city. There’s always some new event to attend, and wearing the same dress twice isn’t worth the scrutiny of her peers. For years, Amelia would return from her business excursions with chests full of new clothing for her, and for a time, Caitlyn let herself believe that the gifts meant something.

Her clothes take up a room of their own. Shelves run from floor to ceiling. There are one-of-a-kind pieces, dresses from Ionia and accessories from Noxus, outfits encapsulating every milestone that matters – birthdays, anniversaries, marriage, funerals – and countless gifts she has yet to try on.

Yet she doesn’t have a single that’ll help her blend in, down in Zaun.

Caitlyn sighs, staring into the full-length mirror. She has gone through a dozen outfits, all of them crumpled on the floor, and this is the best she can muster: a black, knee-length skirt with barely any embroidery on the pleats, a loose, cotton shirt that drapes off the shoulders, and boots look as though they were designed by someone who’d once seen a horse from a distance and entertained the thought of riding it.

Part of her considers tearing the clothing, staining the shirt around the hem and adding a patch or two, but she scolds herself for it. She knows nothing of Zaun, not truly. She has lived a life of privilege, clothes stored away where moths cannot eat them, high in an ivory tower where the struggles of the undercity have no place.

Tonight will change that. She’s determined not to flinch at every shadow, not to let it be too much for her. She won’t let Vi see how terribly out of place she truly is, both in Zaun and Piltover alike.

She steps closer to the mirror. The sun is almost down and there’s no turning back now. Caitlyn stares into her reflection, bristling when it stares back. The gap between her teeth, her lifeless, straight hair, the lack of anything remarkable in her features, scars or tattoos or just something worth looking at; the clothes aren’t the problem.

She doesn’t know how fit into her own skin.

Caitlyn closes the door behind her, making a note to donate most of her clothing to someone who truly needs it.

She doesn’t take a bag. She zips a handful of cash in the inner pocket of her jacket, tucks her keys away, and spares one last glance back at the house. Amelia isn’t home. She doesn’t tend to work on Sundays, but she isn’t home.

Caitlyn writes a quick note and leaves it on the sideboard.

Out running an errand for Jayce. If it takes longer than expected, I might make use of his guestroom. C.

Caitlyn walks briskly through the dark streets, avoiding the pools of street light. She doesn’t call a car, doesn’t want to risk anyone knowing that she’s—what? Heading to the outskirts of Piltover? She clicks her tongue, telling herself it’s still Piltover, even if her parents never knew anyone who lived along the river.

Caitlyn prays she doesn’t run into anyone she knows, doesn’t get caught in the headlights of one of the countless drivers that works for her family. She pulls her jacket tight around herself and takes the roads she’s spent the last few nights memorising. It doesn’t take long to reach the river, not with her thoughts tearing ahead of her.

The dark water laps against the brick banks. Caitlyn can see the silhouette of Zaun from there, the thrum of neon lights that are diligently blocked from inner Piltover by clever tricks of architecture. She leans against the railings, breathing the night’s sharp, cool air, and would be content to spend the rest of the evening like that.

She isn’t certain she has the courage take a step closer.

Not until hands press to her waist and she spins on the spot, grabbing the assailant’s arm and twisting it behind their back.

“Shit, Cupcake,” Vi says, laughing as she struggles her way free. “Who knew you had that hidden up your sleeve.”

“Vi!” Caitlyn hisses, heart rate not yet slowing. “I thought you were—you scared me.”

“Hey, my life just flashed before my eyes, too. Half thought you were going to whip your shotgun out again.”

“It wouldn’t have been difficult to throw you in the river.”

Vi holds out her arms in a shrug.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she says.

Caitlyn’s nerves settle. The cool night air returns. Fear belatedly turns to joy, because Vi’s there, she kept her promise, and this isn’t all for nothing. Greeting her with a smile feels inadequate. Saying nothing but hello doesn’t feel enough, but Caitlyn doesn’t know what to do with herself.

Vi takes Caitlyn’s wrist, tugging her into one of the flickering streetlights along the river.

“Let’s get a look at you,” she says, taking a step back, hand on her chin.

A lump forms in Caitlyn’s throat, as though Caitlyn didn’t first meet Vi in a dressing gown and apron, as though Vi didn’t spend days nearly-naked in her bed.

“Not bad. I mean, they wouldn’t let you in anywhere black-tie, but it’s still way too new and shiny,” Vi hums. “Come here.”

She offers out both hands. Caitlyn takes them without having to think it through. Vi steps closer, so close their chests touch, and stands on Caitlyn’s boots, scuffing them with the soles of her own.

“Vi—!”

“Calm down. They’re going to look way worse than that before the night’s out. That helps a little, but—” Still humming, Vi shrugs off her red jacket and holds it out. “Put this on.”

Caitlyn stares at her, expecting her face reflects its colour. Vi shakes it a little, nodding encouragingly, and Caitlyn cautiously takes the jacket from her. All her cleaning and patching was for naught; the jacket looks just as it did the first time she met Vi.

She shakes her own jacket off, hands it over to Vi, and slips her arms into the surprisingly comfortable beaten jacket. Vi’s shorter than her, but the arms are long enough, and it’s perhaps a size larger than anything Caitlyn would usually wear. She holds out her arms, admiring herself.

“Looking good,” Vi says, voice bereft of its usual teasing.

“So long as I look the part,” Caitlyn says. “Please be careful with my jacket, Vi. My house keys are in the pocket.”

Vi checks said pocket is zipped up and ties the sleeves around her waist. She holds out a hand and Caitlyn takes it, walking freely across the bridge that once was rife with barricades and enforcers. People pass them in both directions. No one looks their way.

“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Vi says, once they’ve crossed the expanse of water. “Usually, I’d jump down, make it to the ground in a few minutes flat, but for you—stairs.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Caitlyn murmurs, eyes on the city before her, the city descending down into the mines and quarries it was born of.

She breathes deeply. The air doesn’t scald the inside of her lungs as so many have led her to believe. The sad truth is that it likely wasn’t an exaggeration, a lie; just an outdated fact about life in the undercity. She recalls articles written on the lengths the Zaunites had to go to to clean up their air, their rivers, but the sheen of grime and rain water covering the city only makes it gleam.

Vi leads them through the crowds, down the groaning, metal staircases bolted into rockfaces, promising that the next short cut is easy, honestly, and encourages Caitlyn to jump the few feet between two buildings that go down forever. There are lifts, which Vi finally relents and lets them take, and by the time she’s standing on Zaunite soil, in the Lanes, Caitlyn’s heart is louder than the city itself.

She doubts it will get much reprieve this evening.

The buildings are amalgams of themselves. Everything is stone and steel, brutal and practical, adorned with neon lights and bright clouds of spray-paint. Nothing matches and everything fits in. Caitlyn’s aware that she’s gawking, knows that she’s giving herself away as a naïve topsider, but with Vi at her side, she knows it’s safe to stop and stare.

“So?” Vi asks. “Everything you feared it would be?”

“And so much more,” Caitlyn says, grinning.

She doesn’t dare bring up why they’re there. Part of her hopes that Vi was only teasing her, as is her pastime of choice, with talk of the brothel. Part of her doesn’t want intrude, knowing Vi works there; part of here can’t stand the thought of not knowing what it looks like. She’d be content to walk the dark streets, safe with Vi on her arm, stop at a stall for street food, or slip into one of the countless bars, music booming into the night.

Vi leads the way with the nod of her head. They walk past all the businesses boasting of their wares, not caring the sun’s gone down, and meander down what seems like an empty, narrow alleyway.

Vi stops halfway down and raps a fist against a door Caitlyn would’ve missed in broad daylight.

A slot slides open. Narrowed eyes glance between them, and the doorkeeper grunts at the sight of Vi. Bolts are drawn back. The door opens with a groan, and soft, pink light emanates from within.

“After you,” Vi says, swinging out a hand.

Caitlyn can’t let courage fail her now.

She steps into sweet, perfumed air. The door slams shut behind them, taking the sounds of Zaun with it. The brothel is alive with sounds of its own, some sweet as birdsong, others difficult to ignore. The light is low, the wallpaper and carpet a deep purple, but Caitlyn knows she isn’t there to appreciate the décor.

“Here,” Vi says.

Caitlyn turns, instinctively grabbing what she throws. Vi has a mask pulled on, like something from a masquerade ball, and Caitlyn looks down at the one in her hands.

Hers looks to be a bird of prey, white Vi boasts the miscoloured stripes of a tiger.

“If you want to protect your privacy before we get where we’re going,” Vi says.

“Oh—oh, yes of course. Thank you, Vi. That’s very thoughtful.”

Caitlyn pulls her mask on, hoping it just about hides her blush.

They walk past so-called private rooms, protected by only a beaded curtain. Caitlyn keeps her gaze ahead, no matter how the noises from all sides demand her attention. When they reach the end of the corridor, where a thin, elderly man stands behind a mahogany desk, Caitlyn soon learns that the masks don’t count for much.

“Oh my goodness, Vi!” comes a woman’s voice from one of the private rooms. “I was just telling my friend here about you, wondering where you were, and—”

Vi leans an elbow against the desk, lifting a hand to silence the woman. She’s beautiful, even with her mask on: waves of long, black hair tumble down her back, and Caitlyn doubts the woman has ever felt ill-suited to anything she’s worn.

“Sorry. Here on pleasure, not business,” Vi says.

The woman pouts. Vi says something that the rush of blood in Caitlyn’s ears won’t let her hear and her stomach flips violently. She swallows the lump in her throat and blinks. The woman is gone and Vi’s talking to the man behind the desk, sliding a few coins his way.

Caitlyn lets her take the lead. She follows Vi back down the corridor and steps through the beaded curtain Vi holds open for her. She’s surprised by how nice the room is with no natural light filtered in. The brothel clearly caters to a certain class of client; those who want to spend their nights in a different world, not just with a different person.

“Get comfy, Cupcake,” Vi says, gesturing to the chaise longue.

Caitlyn sits in the corner of the seat, appreciative of instructions, and waits with her back ramrod straight. She keeps her eyes on the beaded curtain, watching the figures that pass slowly but never linger, and does everything in her power to ignore the sounds coming from the adjacent room.

It’s hot in there. There doesn’t appear to be much in the way of circulation. Caitlyn considers removing Vi’s jacket a dozen times, and only does so when sweat begins to bead at the nape of her neck. She folds it neatly in her lap, tucking it over one arm, while Vi fusses with the hookah on the floor.

She drags it in front of the chaise longue. It’s an impressive piece of craftmanship, almost two feet tall, and might just have real silver worked into neck. Vi sits close to Caitlyn, as the sloped backseat dictates, and Caitlyn can still feel the sweat on the back of her neck.

She’s sat with Vi before. She’s shared a bed with her and been in situations far more private than this. There is nothing different about this, beyond everything; Caitlyn has crossed a literal bridge to be here, has pulled herself from the miasma of her homelife, just to sate something close to—what? Jealousy?

She doesn’t own Vi. Vi doesn’t owe her anything.

Yet Vi’s arm is pressed to hers and Caitlyn can’t think.

Vi packs whatever they’re smoking into the bowl – tobacco, maybe, with something mixed into it to sweeten and temper the taste – and lights it, giving the mouthpiece one last clean with a cloth.

“After you,” Vi says, holding it out towards her.

“I, ah. I don’t smoke,” Caitlyn says, as though it’s a revelation.

“Me neither,” Vi says, shrugging. “But I figured we could both do something different, since we’ve come all this way. Let our hair down together.”

Caitlyn’s fingers brush the backs of Vi’s, but she pulls her hand back.

“I don’t know how. Do you think you might demonstrate?”

Vi doesn’t need to be asked twice. She twists the hose towards herself, and brings the mouthpiece to her lips. She keeps her eyes on Caitlyn’s as she inhales, slow and measured, and Caitlyn can’t help but let out a delighted little oh! at the amount of smoke that spills from Vi’s mouth, white water tumbling between rocks.

“See? Take it nice and slow and you’ll get the hang of it,” Vi says.

She tilts the mouthpiece towards Caitlyn. Caitlyn reaches for it, but Vi yanks her hand back, clicking her tongue and guiding Caitlyn with her eyes. Determined to see this through, to not cling to any excuse to give up, Caitlyn leans towards Vi, letting Vi set the pace.

Vi presses the mouthpiece to her lips, gently easing them open. Caitlyn is overwhelmingly aware of the fact that Vi’s mouth was on the same cool metal mere moments ago, and doesn’t think to pay attention to how much she’s inhaling.

It is, perhaps, a little too much. The smoke splutters out of her mouth as she coughs, started by the rough heat coiling in her lungs and throat. Vi produces a glass of water from somewhere and hands it over.

“Easy there, Cupcake. It takes a minute to get used to,” Vi says, taking another long, deep pull.

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke,” Caitlyn says, once the coughing subsides. “How are you making it look so easy?”

Vi exhales another cloud, almost into Caitlyn’s face.

“I don’t smoke. Doesn’t mean I haven’t tried it before,” she says, tilting the mouthpiece back towards Caitlyn. “Some people are into it, anyway.”

“Are they, now?”

“Mmhmm,” Vi says, pressing the mouthpiece to her pursed lips.

Caitlyn pays attention to what she’s doing, this time. She inhales slowly, cuts herself off sooner than she wants to, and breathes a stream of smoke into the air. Her chest still burns but she doesn’t splutter, doesn’t cough, and exhales the last of the anxiety coiled within her.

“That’s it. You’ve got it,” Vi says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Good girl.”

Caitlyn hums because humming is all she can do. Her thoughts begin and end with the singing of her nerves. She leans against Vi, nestled into her strong arm, and lets Vi pass the hookah over to her, until a fog of their making fills the room. Vi sighs, content. Caitlyn wonders if she’ll call her a good girl again. She wonders what would happen if she tilted her head back and looked her in the eyes.

Vi idly runs her fingers through Caitlyn’s hair, calloused fingers rubbing against her scalp. Eventually, there is nothing but ash in the bowl atop the hookah. Vi drops the hose to the floor and her other hand grips Caitlyn’s hip, thumb digging onto the curve of her hipbone.

Caitlyn tenses but pushes herself closer to Vi. Her head spins and the scattered sounds throughout the brothel mean nothing. Caitlyn doubts there was anything beyond tobacco and a few sweet, dried herbs, better suited to tea, in the blend, but all the stress, all the anxiety and fear of the day, of the last few years, has drained from her.

For the first time in what feels like an age, her body isn’t a stranger to itself. Caitlyn doesn’t force herself to hold back anything it feels, anything it wants; anything she wants. Vi is solid against her, Vi is receptive, and nothing she does is incidental. Vi is as aware of Caitlyn’s body as she is, if not more so.

Caitlyn thinks Vi might’ve been for a while.

The dim, smoke-filled room demands an honesty from Caitlyn she’s never mustered in Piltover, within the confines from her home. She has no role to play here, no image to keep intact; she does not have to abide by the way things are, does not have to keep her feet on the path life has chosen from her.

Vi’s breath ghosts across the curve of her neck, the shell of her ear.

“Caitlyn,” she murmurs, nose pressing to the corner of her jaw.

Caitlyn, not Cupcake. Caitlyn can’t say anything, not with the lump in her throat. She presses herself harder against Vi, hips lifting though Vi does her utmost to keep them still, heat no longer confined to her lungs and throat.

“Vi,” Caitlyn finally manages, voice thick.

“Remember what you said to me?” Vi asks, lips brushing against Caitlyn’s throat as she speaks. “After I called you a rich bitch.”

Caitlyn lets her eyes flutter close. She can only deal with so many sensations at once, and it takes everything within her not to shudder at the deep pull in the pit of her stomach, tying it in knots.

“I do,” Caitlyn says.

When Vi makes no reply, Caitlyn finds the strength to turn, to pivot on the sofa so she’s staring up at Vi. She hadn’t realised how thoroughly she’d sunk into the embrace. Vi’s grey eyes are dark, overcast with something other than the smoke in the room.

Caitlyn reaches up, nails dragging along the shaved side of Vi’s head. Vi isn’t smiling, not anymore. Hungry eyes dart across Caitlyn’s face.

“Well,” Caitlyn says, no question in it, this time. “On your knees, then.”

Vi doesn’t need to be told for a third time. The taut muscles pressed against Caitlyn go slack, and Vi slips to the ground, plush carpet dulling the impact. For once in her life, Caitlyn stops thinking and just acts. She obliges when Vi presses her hands to her knees, spreading her thighs apart, and can find no place for her fingers but twisted in Vi’s hair.

Vi lets out a throaty, pleased sound. Caitlyn’s toes curl in the carpet. Her breathing already comes heavy, the air is close, the room scorching, burning, but nothing moves in a blur; nothing’s faster than it ought to be, nothing comes as quickly as she needs to it.

Vi’s hands slide up the outside of her thighs, slipping under her skirt, and fuck if wearing that isn’t the only good decision Caitlyn’s ever made in her life. She keeps her eyes on Caitlyn all the while, lips parted ever so slightly in a plea for permission. Caitlyn lifts her hips, whimpering as Vi pulls her underwear down, unhooking them from her ankles and throwing them—throwing them somewhere, anywhere, it doesn’t matter.

“Shit,” Vi murmurs, bundling Caitlyn’s skirt around her hips.

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten in her hair. Her mouth hangs open but she doesn’t need to ask for anything, not with Vi. Vi doesn’t tease her, doesn’t drag her mouth along her inner thighs, needing to build up her; she settles exactly where she wants to be, exactly where Caitlyn needs her.

Caitlyn gasps as Vi’s mouth presses between her legs. Vi groans into her, settling herself into a rhythm as she laps at her, greedy, desperate, and Caitlyn doesn’t care if the whole of Zaun, much less the whole damn brothel, hears the noise the escapes her.

How can she give a damn about anything when the sound gets Vi to work her tongue harder against her, inside her? Vi hooks her arms around her thighs and pulls her close, shifts her hips to the edge of the chaise longue, and loses herself in her.

“Vi, that’s—fuck, you’re so good,” Caitlyn whimpers, grinding herself against Vi’s mouth. “Please, right—that’s it, that’s it…”

People pass in the corridor. There’s no privacy here, not really, only a handful of beads dangling from a wide, arched doorway, and everyone in the brothel must be able to hear the curses and prayers tumbling from her mouth.

It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. All that matters is Vi on her knees, between her legs, still groaning with her slow swipe of her tongue; all that matters is that this is for her, after so long.

Caitlyn’s eyes flutter closed. The figures in the corridor fade into nothing. All those nights with her heart in her throat, desperate for Vi to climb through the window, driving herself to blissful torment over the thought of how Vi would react to catching her with her fingers between her legs; all of that blooms inside of her, urging her on further, further.

“I thought of this,” Caitlyn gasps. “So many times, I—I imagined it, I wanted you, for so long, I…”

She bites on her lower lip, words lost to a moan.

Vi slows her tongue enough to say, “Did you touch yourself? All those nights alone in that big, empty bed?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn breathes without hesitation, without shame. “So many times, Vi.”

Vi grunts, swears. A shudder runs through her and it takes her a moment to regain herself. Caitlyn’s almost grateful for the brief respite, but when Vi works her mouth again, murmuring “Good girl,” against her, Caitlyn understands the true meaning of gratitude.

Vi keeps her mouth against her as Caitlyn comes, murmuring praise as a blinding, blissful clarity washes over Caitlyn. It’s something she’s been missing, something she’s gone a lifetime without, but she knows it won’t last; even as she rides out the orgasm, that sense of knowing, of understanding every fibre of herself, settles into pure, mindless pleasure.

Vi rests her head on Caitlyn’s trembling thigh, teeth finally scraping across the soft skin there.

“Hey,” Vi says, after a long moment.

The sounds of the brothel filter back. Caitlyn’s throat is as sore from moaning as it was from the smoke. Her hand drops to Vi’s cheek, and with the whole of her body trembling and weightless, she guides her back onto the chaise longue.

“Everything okay?” Vi asks.

She’s already packing more of the blend into the hookah. Caitlyn conjures a joke about needing it more than ever but doesn’t speak it.

“I’ve scarcely been better,” she admits, letting Vi wrap an arm around her.

They smoke, leant against one another, pacing the mouthpiece back and forth. Caitlyn basks in everything she’s denied herself for so long, humming as Vi’s fingers run through her hair. She listens to the sounds of the brothel, no longer flustered by them, and pays no heed all the people passing by.

“Getting late, Cupcake,” Vi eventually murmurs. “We’d better get you home.”

Home.

Back to the real world, back across the bridge.

For a solitary moment, Caitlyn had convinced herself this was all there was: body relaxed, mind clear, and Vi pressed against her. She reaches for Vi’s jacket, no longer as neatly folded as it was, and knows she will not have the chance to wrap it around her for much longer.

Chapter Text

Rain plinks off the corrugated roofs of Zaun and runs into the streets, reflecting neon light off the ground. Vi takes Caitlyn’s hand, leading her through the maze of narrow, crowded streets, and Caitlyn laughs each time they nearly trip over an unearthed pipe or loose flagstone. They take the lift up, rain growing louder, more persistent, as they rise towards Piltover.

Caitlyn keeps Vi’s red jacket tight around her, and Vi keeps Caitlyn close, arm slung easily around her waist. Possessively, almost, when other Zaunites look their way. It’s pouring by the time they surface, and they don’t have an umbrella between them.

Vi holds Caitlyn’s jacket over them as they run across the bridge. The rain thrums against the river, surface trembling, each drop reluctant to join the current. It’s impossible to hear anything Vi says, even with her mouth against her ear. They make it into Piltover at two in the morning, and though the rain doesn’t lessen, Caitlyn tugs Vi towards the awnings of the austere buildings they take shelter against.

They both slow their pace once they’re a few miles from Caitlyn’s neighbourhood, knowing the night has to end. Vi is no longer guiding her through the unfamiliar streets of Zaun, but she keeps her fingers entwined with Caitlyn’s. Her palm is the only warm thing left in the world.

“Guess this is where I leave you, huh,” Vi says, wearing a stupid, charming grin, hair plastered to her face.

“I suppose so,” Caitlyn says, tightening her grasp on Vi’s hand. “I’d invite you home, but—well, I doubt that would go over particularly well.”

Vi gives a dry little laugh, tugging Caitlyn closer. Caitlyn presses to her, wet clothes against wet clothes, drenched to the bone, and puts off saying goodbye. She takes Vi’s other hand too, and they look at each other, rain running down their faces, dripping from their noses, hearts in their throats, strangely on the verge of shyness.

“We still on for Thursday?” Vi asks.

“Of course,” Caitlyn says. The answer comes quickly, and only the driving rain drowns out the edge of desperation in her voice. “I’ll be waiting.”

Vi pries her hands free of Caitlyn’s. Caitlyn can’t protest, not when those same hands press to her face, trailing their way down to her clavicles.

“Gonna need this back,” Vi says, giving the jacket a tug.

Caitlyn falters, then tangles her arms in the jacket in a rush to get it off. Vi chuckles, helping Caitlyn out of it, and offers out her own soaked coat. Vi shrugs her way into the jacket Caitlyn’s spent so much of the evening wearing, takes a few steps back, and offers a lazy salute.

Caitlyn steps forward, meaning to say something more, but Vi’s already gone, bounding through the city, back towards the bridge.

Caitlyn doesn’t bother putting her jacket on. She idly checks the pockets, ensuring her house keys are there, and leans against a lamppost, staring into the rain-streaked darkness Vi’s disappeared into. She’d stay there all night, but it wouldn’t do any good: the sun will return before Vi does, and Caitlyn needs to get home.

She walks the streets that are no longer so familiar, in the dark. The city slumbers, but if one person were to look from their window and recognise Caitlyn, she’d never hear the end of it. All in Piltover would have something to say about the Kiramman heir rain-drenched and alone at gone two in the morning, wandering aimlessly.

There’s an ache in her chest. Caitlyn feels the lingering effects of the all the smoke she inhaled, feels the ghost of a burn in her throat, and twists her hand in the front of her shirt. Even with the sky emptying itself, Caitlyn doubts she’ll be rid of the smells of the brothel so easily.

She shudders, teeth chattering together. Vi’s gone, back to Zaun, back to her life, and now Caitlyn has no choice but to return to hers; no choice but to return to the home that always waits for her with its closed-off rooms and dark windows, and the wife who treats her time in Piltover as penance.

The rain picks up. The wind cuts through her. There’s no laughter now, not now that Vi is gone and her hands freeze to the bone. Caitlyn quickens her pace, needing to be out of the rain, into the warmth, and fuck, she isn’t even wearing underwear. Vi never gave them back. She let Vi place her hands on her knees, spread them apart, and then she ran through the undercity with her, not thinking to ask for what Vi had taken.

Arms wrapped around herself, Caitlyn slinks out of the street lights and down a garden path. She cries freely, openly, tears mixing with rain, and pounds on the front door.

The hour can be dammed. Caitlyn knocks harder when no one replies immediately, little stabs of pain jolting through her fists with each rap of the wood. The awning above does little to protect her. She leans against the door, listening to footsteps within, the muffled murmuring, the sounds of bolts sliding and locks turning.

The door opens slowly, cautiously. Amber light spills from the hallway.

“Caitlyn?” Jayce asks, as concerned that she’s there as he is relieved it isn’t anyone with ill-intentions. “Caitlyn, what are you doing here? It’s three in the morning. Just get in, you’re soaked through.”

Caitlyn lets him take hold of her elbow and guide her into the hallway. She drips all over the tiled floor, tries to choke out an apology, but only cries harder.

“Cait?” Jayce asks softly, closing the door behind her and blocking out the roar of the rain.

“It’s nothing. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have come,” Caitlyn says, shaking her head. “It’s nothing. I’ll—I’ll leave you to get back to bed. I’m sure you have to be up early.”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m not going to let you go like this,” Jayce says firmly, kindly. “Not before you warm up and tell me what’s wrong.”

Caitlyn continues shaking her head, but the words come unbidden.

“I think—” she says, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I think I’m having an affair, Jayce.”

Jayce smiles at her, a little sad, a little weary, and rubs a hand against her back. He nudges her deeper into the house, lets out a sigh, but mercifully doesn’t say I told you so.

“Let’s get you dried off,” he says.

An hour later, Caitlyn sits in front of a low fire, towel over her shoulders. She used up more hot water in Jayce’s shower than there was rain in the sky, and she sits in a set of his clothes, nursing a mug of tea between both hands. She crosses her legs and stares into the flames, working on keeping her breathing steady.

Rain continues to beat the windows. Caitlyn hopes Vi has made it home, wherever home is. She hopes it’s warm there, she hopes Vi has something other than her red jacket to wrap around herself.

“So. Let me get this straight. And this isn’t me judging you, Cait,” Jayce says, after mulling over her revelations in terse silence. “You’ve been meeting with a woman from Zaun. She’s been staying in your home, in secret, and coming over when Amelia isn’t there. She invited you to the undercity, to a brothel, and you thought—you sincerely thought that nothing would happen. That it was a normal thing for two friends to do. And now you’re here, on my doorstep at 3am, crying like I haven’t seen you cry in years.”

Caitlyn brings the tea to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip. Jayce always brews it too weak, but it’s the warmth Caitlyn is after.

“Of course I didn’t think nothing would happen. I’m not so naïve as to think she invited me to a brothel, a brothel she works at, to discuss literature. Denial is a powerful tool, Jayce. I’ve been using it for, oh, years now. I think part of me wanted something to happen so very deeply that I was convinced it wouldn’t; when has my wanting anything ever been a factor in how my life plays out?” Caitlyn says, knowing there’s no point in speaking anything but the truth. “I’ve always been so proud of myself. I’ve always held my head high, satisfied that I was true to my marriage, no matter how loveless it was. But look at me: curled up on my best friend’s sofa, stewing in self-contempt.”

Jayce drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. Caitlyn can tell he’s bursting at the seams to give her a well-meant, brotherly lecture, and she’s grateful he’s only sticking to the facts.

“Then you—” he clears his throat, as though Caitlyn is still the fourteen-year-old he first met. “Then you were intimate?”

Caitlyn would laugh, under any other circumstances.

“Well. She was. We were—yes,” Caitlyn says, sighing. “Yes.”

Jayce nods. He rubs his hand over his mouth, saying nothing but blinking heavily. Caitlyn wonders if she’s disappointed him. She wonders if someone feeling something from her, even if it is disappointment, is worth all the fallout that will follow.

He’s tired. She knows Jayce, knows how late he stays up waking. He’s tired and this isn’t helping, but he’s doing his best to be there for her.

Even if the tea is abysmal.

“This woman, this—will you tell me her name?” Jayce asks.

Caitlyn laughs dryly. There’s no point in keeping secrets anymore.

“Vi,” she says.

“Vi,” he repeats. “Are you going to see her again? Do you like her?”

The question catches Caitlyn off-guard. She’s yet to gather the bravery to ask it herself. The answer comes now, not at the behest of courage, but because the rain’s settled in her bones and she has no strength left to stave it off.

Vi sees her. Vi always comes back to her. Vi tries all her creations, happily sits down at the table and watches her cook, not always needing to talk; just enjoying the shared space, the knowledge that they’re there together. Vi makes her more aware of herself than she has been of years; she makes her aware of how big her damn house is, and how many nights she’s spent alone in her marital bed.

“She’s coming over on Thursday night,” Caitlyn says.

Jayce slouches a little in his seat.

“I don’t know what to do here, Cait. I don’t know what you need me to say,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you want me to tell you it’s a terrible idea? Do you want me to ensure that this ends, or should I be… supporting you? Because, honestly, I don’t blame you for any of this. Not after how things have been these last few years. I won’t say it’s right, but maybe it’s fair. Maybe it’s all part of the status quo.”

Caitlyn stares into the fire. Jayce’s words don’t even elicit a dry laugh from her, because the smoke is still coiling in her lungs. She doesn’t want to choke on it.

She sat in that same spot, years ago, telling Jayce that Amelia had proposed. Well: it was less proposal and more exciting mutual agreement. He’d been happy for her, happy for her happiness, and Caitlyn had talked and talked, not giving him space to voice any concerns, to ask if this was what she really wanted.

Years later, she’d curled up in one of the blankets, sobbing, telling him all Amelia had admitted to her face; all her paranoia wasn’t for nothing. She’d spent ten days on Jayce’s sofa, too miserable to drag herself to the guest room, barely picking at the food Jayce brought her. And then Amelia had spent a consecutive hour knocking on the door, talking to Caitlyn through it, and Caitlyn had dragged herself to her feet, only intending to tell Amelia to go away, that it was over—

But then they’d sat in the kitchen, and Amelia had given all sorts of explanations without making any promises, and Caitlyn wanted nothing more than for things to go back to normal. Back to a pretence of normal. And then she thought of her parents, of what her mother would say if she knew she was sleeping on Jayce’s sofa, and knew she couldn’t face the scrutiny of her peers.

Her marriage was at the heart of Piltovan society. There was no keeping her business to herself.

“Can I sleep here?” Caitlyn asks.

“Cait—”

“Can I sleep here or not? Amelia thinks I’m with you, and I’d have to make some excuse if I arrived home at five in the morning,” Caitlyn says, voice rising. “Also, it’s still raining. My father will hold you personally responsible if I get ill from this.”

Jayce takes the empty mug from between her hands. He returns with blankets, clasps her shoulder, and doesn’t say another word.

Caitlyn curls up onto the sofa, stares into the fire, and sleeps fitfully. She wakes a few hours later, dawn behind her, and leaves a scrawled note for Jayce on the sideboard. Her clothes have mostly dried, and she changes into them before leaving. She takes a car home, not wanting to be alone with her thoughts for longer than necessary, and takes the path to her front door as though approaching a building she has never entered before.

She has her story lined up. She has her self-righteous defences for when Amelia pokes holes in said story.

Caitlyn takes the key from her jacket pocket. She wishes Vi had thrown it in the river after all.

She unlocks the door, opens it slowly. It doesn’t groan on its hinges. She steps into the foyer, still cold with the rain she’s washed off, burnt its memory away before the fire, and her footsteps echo.

The space is so large, so polished. Vi’s blood no longer speckles the marble floors.

Footsteps join Caitlyn’s. Amelia descends the stairs, bag hung over one arm, pinning an earring into place as she hurries through the house. Caitlyn stops dead. She stares up at Amelia, at her wife, and tastes bile and spite in the back of her throat.

Amelia smiles at her.

Years ago, it would’ve made Caitlyn’s chest tighten.

“You’re up early, dear,” she says. She kisses Caitlyn’s cheek as she passes, stepping into her shoes. “I’m afraid I’m just on my way out, but we are still good to visit the Montals tonight, aren’t we? They’ve been talking my ear off about this for the better part of two years, and if we finally cave and attend one of their famous dinner parties, we can put the sequel off for at least another year. They’ve been making noises about us hosting, and this way, we can escape when we please.”

Caitlyn has spent her life being introduced to everyone who matters, who think they matter too much, and can’t pretend she doesn’t know exactly who Amelia is talking about. She can’t pretend that this isn’t her world, and this isn’t her role to play.

“We’d better bite the bullet, then. I’ll pick out a bottle to take,” Caitlyn says. “I know they’ll both fall over themselves for a red from the Kiramman cellar.”

“Wonderful. I should be back by four to change,” Amelia hums. As if forgetting she’s already kissed Caitlyn’s cheek, she leans over and does it again, committing to her role. “I’ll see you then.”

Caitlyn waves her off. She waits until she’s at the end of the path, at her car, to close the door. The house is quiet, dormant, even with her heart leaping into her throat. She stands there for a long, hollow moment, certain she could put her fist through one of the decorative columns at the centre of the foyer.

She takes a breath. This isn’t worth it. Amelia isn’t worth it. She isn’t worth it. Her eyes dart around, searching for something to focus on, something to soothe herself, and she sees her note on the sideboard.

It’s untouched. The paperweight remains exactly where Caitlyn left it. Caitlyn stands over the note, reading her words, her poorly disguised lie, and she laughs. She laughs and she laughs, because not only did Amelia not know where she was last night, but she didn’t know she was gone.

Caitlyn has fallen asleep on the sofa under the guise of reading, putting off returning to her occupied bed, more times than she can count. She’s found herself sleeping in one of the guest rooms time and time again, always trying to come up with explanations, only to never be questioned. She shouldn’t be surprised that Amelia didn’t notice her absence, didn’t care where she was, but—

But she was in Zaun. She was in a city she’d never set foot in before, alongside a woman who’d turned up on her doorstep bleeding, and she’d gone to a brothel. She’d smoked. She’d smoked so much her throat will be sore for days, her voice hoarse – not that Amelia will notice – and she’d let another woman kneel between her legs, let her taste her, take her, twisted her fingers in her hair and demanded she lavish her with the attention she’d needed for so, so long.

All that, and Amelia hadn’t known she was gone.

Part of Caitlyn wonders if Amelia retired to bed late and mistook the creases in the duvet for Caitlyn, making herself as small as she could along her edge of the bed.

Caitlyn’s laughter fades. She’s crying, now, sunk on the foyer floor, arms wrapped around her knees. If only Amelia would come back now, realising she’d forgotten something, her keys, documents for work, anything—forgotten her wife, and it’d only taken her years to realise. If only she’d kneel at Caitlyn’s side, murmur that she could tell her what was wrong, and be forced to endure it all, as Caitlyn had so many times.

Amelia would be angry, her pride wounded, but more than that, she’d be shocked. Incredulous. Caitlyn had finally crossed the point of no return, had finally done something worthy of her attention. Maybe she’d shout. Maybe she’d sneer. Caitlyn doesn’t know, doesn’t care. It would be something; even anger, raised voices, accusations, insults, would be better than yes, dear, hello, dear, how are you, dear, hang off my arm and let everyone know you’re a Kiramman, dear.

But Amelia doesn’t return. If she did, she wouldn’t bring anger with her. She might sigh, might give Caitlyn a look that spoke of a common ground between them, but she wouldn’t engage her long enough to argue with her.

Amelia won’t shout at her, won’t tell her what she really thinks. Jayce won’t argue with her, won’t tell Caitlyn what she deserves to hear.

Her mother might. Caitlyn entertains the thought of heading unannounced to the Kiramman estate, sitting down to tea with her mother, and telling her about the whole, sordid affair. She’d start with Vi breaking into her house during the gala, tell her how she’d given her the ruby necklace, at first, and how she’d invited Vi to come back, over and over. How Vi had turned up bleeding, how she’d stitched her back together, and how she’d let her sleep in her bed; how she’d slept next to her, close, but not touching.

And then she’d tell her mother how she descended into Zaun. She wouldn’t even need Vi for this part, the tales of neon lights and narrow, bustling streets would be enough, but she’d tell her about the brothel, about the smoke in her lungs, about the way she’d buckled so easily, so readily.

She knows she’d never do such a thing. She couldn’t bear her mother’s scrutiny.

Worse still, she couldn’t stand her mother dismissing her, thinking it some wild fantasy, the product of a restless mind. Her mother would think it a cry for help, and that help would come in the form of reminding her of who she was and where her duties laid.

Caitlyn throws one of her shoes across the foyer. It bounces, but the damn room is too big for it to hit the wall and leave a mark.

Deciding that she’s cried out all her tears, Caitlyn gets to her feet. She returns to her life. She sleeps through the rest of the morning in a bed that doesn’t smell of Vi, then cooks an elaborate lunch she barely picks at. She showers, forehead pressed to the cool tiles. She dresses for dinner with the Montals, and prepares herself for how easily Amelia will slip into her charming, attentive persona.

She won’t let herself think it might last more than a night, this time.

Caitlyn picks out the worst bottle of wine she can find. She says nothing in the car over, merely lets Amelia chatter to herself, and only speaks when spoken to over dinner. The evening is so dire that Amelia’s forced to take her aside no fewer than three times and ask if she’s alright. Caitlyn smiles each time, touches her cheek, and tells her that of course she is; what could possibly be wrong?

The next three days crawl by. Amelia is out of the house more often, as is her habit the longer she’s in Piltover, but it isn’t Thursday, so it doesn’t matter. All Caitlyn can think about is Vi. It’s the only thought that doesn’t shrink her world around her, doesn’t put her life into too sharp a focus.

Vi with her rough, gentle hands, her soft lips, her voice that’s both deep and musical all at once. Vi, Vi, Vi, finally climbing up to her bedroom window.

“Whoa there, Cupcake,” Vi says, caught off-guard when Caitlyn takes hold of her forearm and pulls her through the window. “I didn’t miss a week or something, did I? What did I do to deserve this reaction?”

Caitlyn doesn’t let go of her arm. She stares at Vi, lips parted, but can’t bring herself to say a word. Vi shrugs, sinking comfortably into confusion, and reaches down to unlace her boots.

Caitlyn tugs on her arm, keeping her where she is.

“Caitlyn?” Vi says, though her voice is a whisper, now.

“I—” Caitlyn runs her tongue over her dry lips. She tries to keep her eyes on Vi’s, but they dart down to her mouth. “After all this time, after all that’s happened between us, I still haven’t kissed you. I think that’s criminal.”

“Well,” Vi says, bravado not at all backed up by the breath that leaves her. “I’ve never been one for staying on the right side of the law, but for you...”

Caitlyn tugs her closer. She rests her hands on Vi’s shoulders, and feels a jolt run through her when Vi’s hands grip her hips, pulling her closer. Vi has no shame. Vi isn’t a coward, isn’t hiding behind a legal document that means nothing, nothing, that has been desecrated so many times it isn’t worth the paper its inked across.

Vi isn’t afraid. Vi sees her, and Caitlyn knows she doesn’t have anything to fear, either.

She wraps her arms around Vi’s shoulders. Vi presses her lips to Caitlyn’s, so deep into the kiss it’s as though there’s never been a time when they weren’t flush against one another, gasping into each other’s mouths. Caitlyn twists her fingers into Vi’s hair, demanding more, and Vi denies her nothing.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn straddles Vi’s hips, pinning her down with her body. She doesn’t know when the kiss stopped, only that her chest heaves as she draws down deep breaths, room spinning around her. One of Vi’s hands rests lightly on her thigh, and as she looks down at her, all Caitlyn can think is how right Vi looks at the centre of her enormous bed, and how easy it is to have her beneath her.

“Cupcake,” Vi says, catching her own breath. “Hey. What’s come over you?”

Caitlyn hooks her thumbs under Vi’s battered tank-top, hiking it up to her ribs.

“Are you complaining?” Caitlyn asks.

“You dragged me through the window to kiss me. You’ve got me at your mercy in the middle of this ridiculous bed, and you’re trying to get my shirt off. I’m not complaining,” Vi says, hungry eyes darkening as she glances down to Caitlyn’s hands on her stomach. “Shit, you think I haven’t spent months thinking about this? I want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”

Vi’s concern would be touching, under any other circumstances. Caitlyn doesn’t want her to be thoughtful, gentle, caring; she wants Vi on top of her, inside of her, and she doesn’t want to think about a damn thing.

Caitlyn takes Vi’s wrists and pins them above her head. Vi lets her, Caitlyn knows she doesn’t have a hope of restraining her, but Vi doesn’t pull away. That means something. That makes her hips roll.

She leans down, nose pressed to Vi’s. Her hair falls from behind her ear, already in the way, and she whispers her words a fraction of an inch from Vi’s lips.

“I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay in a long time, Vi,” she says. “But I don’t need you to fix that. I need you to—if you would just—”

“Use your words, Cupcake,” Vi says, grinning.

Only now does Caitlyn feel her face burn.

“I’m in my right mind. I haven’t thought this clearly in an age,” Caitlyn says, leaning back to brush her hair out of the way. “You’ve already had your mouth on me, so I see no reason why we ought to stop there. It is simply that—”

She swallows the lump in her throat, hands splayed across Vi’s taut stomach.

“Hah,” Vi says, hands still resting on the pillow above her head. “You want me.”

Caitlyn slides her hands up, nails grazing across Vi’s ribs.

“What gave it away?” Caitlyn asks, rolling her hips more deliberately this time. “Honestly, Vi, I thought you would—”

Caitlyn’s sentence descends into a yelp. Her back hits the mattress. Vi props herself on an elbow and presses close, grin less teasing, now. She kisses Caitlyn again, and for all Caitlyn was just demanding of her, it catches her off-guard. Vi’s calloused hands hold her hips down and she presses her mouth to Caitlyn’s, bruising, tongue parting her lips. Caitlyn groans into her mouth, arching her back.

Vi grunts. It isn’t the sound of someone relenting, but of someone finally indulging in what they’ve held back from for so long. She grips Caitlyn’s hip hard, thumb pressed into the curve, and Caitlyn could lose herself in nothing more than the kiss.

There’s so much outside it – the mattress dipping beneath her, Vi’s solid weight above, her fingers twisted in Vi’s hair – but there’s infinitely more within the kiss itself, wet and messy and honestly more satiating than satisfying.

Another grunt. Vi pulls away long enough to tear her tank-top off, and Caitlyn barely has the time or sense to register that she’s not wearing anything under it. She splays her hands across Vi’s broad back, mapping the contours of her muscles, her rough, scarred skin, and Vi breathes heavily into her mouth.

They find a rhythm. The kiss slows, deepens. Vi grazes her teeth over Caitlyn’s lower lip, sucking, and Vi’s strong hands on her hips are the only force in the world capable of stopping Caitlyn from grinding against her.

“Baby, it’s okay,” Vi murmurs, kissing the corner of her mouth, lips ghosting over her ear. “I’m gonna take care of you, alright? I’ve got you.”

Caitlyn nods and nods, biting down on the lip Vi has near enough bruised. It’s been so long since anyone looked her in the eye like that, since anyone promised themselves to her, to her needs, her wants; it’s been a lifetime since someone knelt over her, slowly peeling away her shirt, her bra, her reservations, gaze falling over her with a filthy sort of reverence.

Caitlyn wants to be seen. She needs to be seen. Her face burns as Vi stares at her, and heat pools in the pit of her stomach; Vi’s gaze alone is a branding touch.

“Shit,” Vi murmurs. “Anyone ever tell you you’re hot, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn’s only reply is a strangled little mmph. She reaches for Vi’s wrists, but doesn’t know what to do with them once she has them. Vi lets her keep hold of her wrists and bows her head to suck bruises up against her throat.

“Vi, you—you really can’t leave a mark,” Caitlyn breathes.

“I’m doing an alright job,” Vi says. “Tell me to stop. Go on.”

Giving up her pretence of control, Caitlyn wraps her arms around Vi’s shoulders. She tries lifting her hips again, but every part of her is at Vi’s mercy. She whines when Vi bites her throat, and decides she doesn’t care about a single thing outside of this moment. Scarves exist. High collars exist.

Who’d actually notice, anyway?

Vi’s hands move, but only to hook around the waist of Caitlyn’s trousers. Vi undoes the button in a quick, deft movement, and Caitlyn shuffles out of the last of her clothes as Vi kisses along her collarbone. Everything tears past her in a blur, yet Caitlyn feels every touch, every kiss, every little groan that reverberates through her skin.

Vi, past the point of teasing, of holding back, bows to Caitlyn’s wordless, breathy demands. The next time Caitlyn bucks her hips, Vi’s hand slips between Caitlyn’s legs, spreading them apart, pressing against all the heat in the world.

“Vi—” Caitlyn manages in a strangled voice. Now her hips are free, she can’t remember how to move. All she can focus on is Vi’s thick, rough fingers working against her, well past the point of needing to warm her up. “That’s—that’s…”

“Shh, shh. I’ve got you. You’re doing good,” Vi promises her, teeth scraping along the shell of her ear. “You know, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you tasted, but, fuck. You feel good, too. You always get this wet?”

Flushing furiously, Caitlyn digs her nails into Vi’s back. The words sink deep in her stomach, and her hips jut, finding it all too much and not enough all at once.

“Are you—are you just going to talk?” Caitlyn goes for condescending, but it comes out with a whimper. “Or are you going to—going to…”

Vi’s lips move back to her throat. Caitlyn tilts her head back, feet sliding across the mattress.

“You don’t even know what you’re trying to say,” Vi says, fingers working in practised, perfect circles.

Caitlyn opens her mouth, only for Vi’s fingers to press lower, easing into her.

“Yeah?” Vi asks when Caitlyn grips her tighter.

Caitlyn nods into her shoulder, seeing only a blinding blur of bright colours. She nods and she nods, utterly soundless for a long, blissful moment as Vi works two fingers inside of her. It’s been so long that it’s filling, that it’s almost too much; but it’s Vi, and she’s as rough as she is gentle, as likely to give and give and give as she is to steal.

“Fuck,” Vi breathes, twisting her wrist, fingers as deep as they’ll go. “You’re good at this.”

“Me?” Caitlyn asks, confused and content, toes curling in the bed sheets.

“Yeah. Feels good. Sounds good,” Vi says, working her fingers faster to prove her point.

Caitlyn hooks a leg around Vi. Vi’s bare chest presses to hers, sweat building between them, and Caitlyn is almost embarrassed by how far Vi’s pushed her, how little it’s taken, until Vi twists her fingers at a perfect angle and Caitlyn doesn’t care about anything but the woman above her, the woman inside her.

“That’s it. Good girl,” Vi says, knowing exactly what she’s doing with her thumb while her fingers press deep, curling inside of her.

Caitlyn’s body jolts beneath Vi, everything in her tensing as the heat builds up and up, until she’s coming with her face buried in Vi’s shoulder, Vi’s fingers deep inside her, her gentle, possessive words in her ears.

Her whole body tingles down to her teeth. She sprawls out on the mattress, breathing deep, not certain when she last inhaled. Her throat is raw from the gasps and moans she barely heard herself make, and her heart hammers the inside of her ribs.

Vi kneels above her, hair stuck to her face, and licks her fingers.

“You in there, Cupcake?” Vi asks, grinning like she doesn’t know what she just did.

Peeling herself from the bed, Caitlyn pushes Vi against the headboard and straddles her lap. Vi’s jeans need to go, but Caitlyn’s mind is still spinning, her body is far too sensitive for any subtle, deft movements. She places her hands on Vi’s shoulders, basking in the way she shamelessly takes her in, eyes lingering wherever she pleases.

“Damn. Who designed you?” Vi says, incisors flashing.

Caitlyn takes Vi’s hands and brings them to her chest, delighting in the way her eyes flutter closed, teeth worrying her lower lip.

“Listen, Caitlyn, I’m—” Vi begins, but Caitlyn’s already taken full advantage of the distraction her tits offer.

She slides into Vi’s lap, pressing against her properly, and even through the jeans—oh.

“Hard?” Caitlyn murmurs.

“I was going to say trans, but yeah. Okay, that too,” Vi says, hands falling to Caitlyn’s hips. “That okay?”

Now she’s there, Vi isn’t about to let her go.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Caitlyn asks, grinding harder into Vi’s lap, utterly ruining her jeans. “I’m trans as well, Vi. I’m not one to judge.”

“You’re—? But, uh…” Vi’s brow furrows in confusion, trying to put the pieces together as Caitlyn presses flush against her, lips on her throat. “Oh. Oh, fuck, I guess money really can buy anything, huh?”

“Oh, yes, modern medicine is incredible, we really cannot discount the progress made in the last few decades alone, but I honestly couldn’t care less about that now,” Caitlyn says, somehow still endeared by Vi. “Would you please take these off? You’re my guest, and you shouldn’t have more clothes on than me.”

Caitlyn leans back, cupping Vi’s face. Vi is a mess, eyes glazed over, lips parted, face flushed, half out of her mind with want, and needier than Caitlyn ever expected to see her.

“You don’t have to,” Vi says. She lets out a long breath. “I’m fine.”

“I want to. I want you,” Caitlyn says, unbuttoning Vi’s jeans. “You’ve made me feel so good twice now. I want you to feel a modicum of that, if nothing else.”

Vi closes her eyes, head tilted back. She doesn’t stop Caitlyn from unzipping her jeans. Caitlyn keeps her eyes fixed on her face, finding it difficult to believe that she’s reduced Vi to this, and waits for Vi to give the slightest nod before moving further.

Vi’s shoulder’s drop. Her hands move to the small of Caitlyn’s back, fingers digging in as Caitlyn loses all patience and reaches into Vi’s boxers, grasping her cock. Caitlyn purses her lips together, giving herself a moment to truly appreciate the feel of Vi hard in her hand, but she can’t hold herself back.

Not when Vi’s hands grab her ass and a little growl from the back of her throat tells Caitlyn exactly what she needs.

“You’re so beautiful,” Caitlyn murmurs as she begins to stroke Vi. “You feel so good, Vi.”

“I’m—ah,” Vi grunts, biting her lower lip. “Pretty worked up, Cupcake. Pretty sensitive, so. So, ah. Just keep—yeah. Yeah.”

Caitlyn leans closer, kissing Vi. Vi does her best to reciprocate and Caitlyn has no words for the thrill that runs through her as Vi admits defeat without realising it, only gasping and panting into Caitlyn’s mouth. Caitlyn keeps kissing her, dragging her lip between her teeth and grazing the line of her jaw, hand moving faster, firmer. Vi bucks her hips into her grasp, and the ache between Caitlyn’s legs is greater than any she felt all those nights alone, thinking of Vi, praying she’d turn up at the window.

“Shit,” Vi groans. “Gonna ruin your fancy sheets.”

“Don’t you dare,” Caitlyn tells her, pressing as close as she can. “I’m right here, Vi. Go ahead.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. Vi swears, pulls Caitlyn closer, and Caitlyn grinds against Vi as she comes, feeling the warmth of it against her stomach, her chest. There is a single moment of something worse than clarity, where Caitlyn wonders what she’s doing and how they got here, but it passes at the sight of Vi, more relaxed than she’s ever been.

Caitlyn brushes her hair aside and places a hand on Vi’s cheek, thumb brushing across her tattoo.

“Hey,” Vi says, groggy, one eye finally opening. “You doing okay, Cupcake?”

“Me?” Caitlyn laughs. She follows Vi’s example and licks her hand clean.

“Shit. How are you real?” Vi murmurs, rubbing a hand against her forehead.

Without the friction building between their bodies, Caitlyn feels the chill of the room. Her heart’s no longer pounding, blood alive in her ears, and she realises she’s naked, messy, and even Vi is far more composed than she is. She reaches out for a blanket to pull against herself but hesitates, feeling a blush creep across her neck and chest.

“Hey, Cupcake. Don’t sweat it,” Vi says, bringing a hand to her cheek. “Hold tight.”

Buttoning her jeans back up, Vi leans over the bed, grabs a pillow, and whips the cover off.

“Vi, that’s hardly appropriate—” Caitlyn protests, cut off by Vi crushing the fabric against her stomach and chest, wiping her down.

She glowers at Vi, red to the tips of her ears.

“What?” Vi asks, pressing a kiss to the corner of her jaw. “Not like it’s your pillow, is it?”

Caitlyn grits her teeth and bears Vi’s attentions, before grabbing the pillowcase, crumpling it up, and throwing it in the direction of the laundry hamper.

“I’ll have to burn that now,” Caitlyn mutters.

“And that’s why you keep a cum towel by the bed.”

When Vi’s teeth graze her ear, Caitlyn fights off a deep, full-body shiver, and swings her legs over the side of the bed.

Blinking her surroundings back into her awareness, Caitlyn grabs a thin, silk nightdress, and pulls it on.

Glancing over her shoulder, she catches Vi pouting.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Caitlyn asks, gesturing to the bedroom door.

Vi reluctantly agrees that she is, then grins far more than the question calls for. Caitlyn takes her hand, tugging her downstairs, and Vi takes her usual seat at the kitchen island. She lets Caitlyn put dinner together, chin propped in her palm, and Caitlyn has scarcely felt so at home in the daunting building before.

Forget the corridors beyond, the unused room, the side of the bed that’s perpetually empty, even when someone sleeps there. There’s only the kitchen, pans boiling on the stove, Vi sipping lazily from a glass of ice-cold water as Caitlyn hums, moving around the kitchen on light feet.

She curls her toes, pushing herself onto the balls of her feet. She hasn’t felt so at home in her own body in an age, either; she didn’t know she still had it in her to desire those things.

Caitlyn finds it oddly easy to sit across from Vi and eat, in spite of what just happened. It’s like all the meals they’ve had together before, even if Caitlyn is wearing significantly less.

“Why now?” Vi asks through a mouthful of pasta.

“Pardon?”

“Why now? We’ve spent a lot of time alone together, Cupcake. Months and months. So why now? Why did you jump my bones the second I climbed through the window?”

“Oh.” Caitlyn twirls her fork in the pasta. A little of the levity in her chest fades, but she’s always been able to be honest with Vi. “Because Amelia didn’t notice I was gone that night.”

“Did you sneak back in?”

“No. I went to Jayce’s, afterwards. I’d left a note for Amelia, saying I was helping him with an errand, and that I might stay the night. There was too much rain for me to return home safely, so I waited for morning,” Caitlyn says. “I was gone, Vi. I was in Zaun with you all night, utterly soaked through, and I expect I smelt of smoke. Amelia saw me coming through the front door. I waited for her to realise, but she assumed I’d been there all night and had simply got an early start. The note I left for her was untouched.”

Vi sucks a breath between her teeth.

“Ouch,” she says.

“Indeed. I was prepared for it to come to tears. I was prepared to shout; goodness, I wanted the excuse to work my lungs raw,” Caitlyn says. “But there was nothing. She assumed I’d slept on a sofa, or that she hadn’t noticed me come to bed. All this time, all these years, of me playing my part out of a misguided sense of loyalty, while she was out doing whatever she pleased with whoever she pleased—what was the point? What was the point in any of it?”

Vi hums, nodding towards her bowl of pasta. Caitlyn eats slower, wondering why she’s wasting her time trying to justify it all. Her wife’s behaviour doesn’t validate her own.

They pass the rest of the meal in silence. Vi takes the dishes once Caitlyn’s finished and does a decent job cleaning them. Caitlyn sits with her shoulders stiff, tugging on the bottom of her nightdress, wishing she’d worn more. Vi doesn’t want to hear about this. Vi isn’t here to deal with her the ever-present ghost of her failed marriage, isn’t there to bear the burden of it.

Caitlyn closes her eyes. She bites the inside of her mouth, wishing she hadn’t said anything. Wishing she’d been as spontaneous as she was short hours ago, when Vi climbed through the window. She should’ve said something short and true, something like Because I wanted to, because I’ve wanted you for so long.

Vi presses to her back, arms around her waist. Caitlyn gives a little squeak, caught off-guard.

“How long’s it been?” Vi asks, pressing kisses behind her ear. “Since she touched you?”

Caitlyn swallows the lump in her throat, trying to catch her breath as Vi’s hands press to her ribs.

“I, um—” her mouth smartly offers. “I stopped counting. A long time ago. Sometimes she’d—if she’d been drinking and came home late, I suppose she could imagine I was someone else…”

“What an idiot,” Vi growls, hot mouth pressing to Caitlyn’s throat.

Caitlyn whimpers, no longer regretting wearing so little. Vi’s hands roam to her chest, and Caitlyn leans back against the solid warmth of Vi’s body. She reaches back, fingers tangling in Vi’s hair as her strong, certain hands slip under her nightdress, exploring her tits.

“Vi—” Caitlyn gasps.

“That’s right,” Vi says. “I’m not thinking of anyone else, Caitlyn. It’s just you and me.”

Caitlyn’s known her share of women. Part of her always knew her marriage wouldn’t be her choice, not really, and so she spent her late teens and early twenties engaging with an endless array of women, learning all she could about herself from them. She swears none of it ever felt like this. Vi’s barely kissing her, her hand aren’t doing much but brush lightly across sensitive skin, but her thoughts begin and end at the woman behind her.

When Vi’s hands move to Caitlyn’s hips and she murmurs, “Stand up,” into her ear, Caitlyn can’t not obey. Her knees almost buckle, but Vi grips her tight, using her foot to push the chair to the side. Caitlyn plants her hands flat on the island countertop, and Vi presses her hips to the edge with her own.

Vi bunches her nightdress up around her waist, hands roaming down the backs of her thighs. Caitlyn wants to tell her that she doesn’t usually sound like this, she doesn’t usually let such desperate, strangled cries out at so little, but nothing passes her lips but a moan.

Her fingertips dig into the countertop when she hears Vi’s belt unbuckle.

“What—what are you doing?” Caitlyn asks, having never wanted an answer more in her life.

“What I’ve spent months thinking about,” Vi says, planting a hand on the small of Caitlyn’s back. “Having you alone in this big, empty house has been driving me crazy. Wanting you, not letting myself touch you—it’s been torture. But now I can take care of you.”

Caitlyn’s legs are trembling. She’d be embarrassed if she didn’t want this so much she’s half convinced herself she won’t be able to draw another breath until Vi touches her.

“Vi,” she whispers. “Please.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” Vi promises her. She trails a hand up her thighs, fingers coming to rest against her core, easing into her. She swears under her breath, hips jerking at the feel of how wet Caitlyn is. “Are you okay with this? You feel okay, don’t make any mistakes. But it’s safe. I’m good, I’m clean. Babette takes care of us.”

Caitlyn barely takes in a word Vi says. She hears the concern in her voice, ringing clear through the possessive desire that ripples through her, and as sweet as it is, she wants more. She needs so much more than Vi’s fingers in her.

“Vi, if you don’t, I might just—”

Might just nothing. Vi twists her finger’s in Caitlyn’s hair, steadying herself, and slides into her. Caitlyn lifts her hips, letting Vi fill her, but it’s the sound Vi lets out that makes Caitlyn think she might never come down from this. It’s deep and guttural, and it’s so perfectly synced with the little jolts of pleasure deep in Caitlyn’s core that she feels her nails sink into the pristine countertop.

Vi moves slowly. She moves too slowly, it’s not enough, it’s half of what Caitlyn wants, but she knows it’s for her own good. She knows she needs to get used to the sensation of Vi moving inside her, and she knows how good it will feel when Vi builds her up and up, finally letting her instincts take over.

“Never thought you’d feel this good,” Vi says, fingers tightening in her hair. Her other hand grips Caitlyn’s hip, anchoring her as she rocks shallowly into her. “Shit. Don’t worry about her, Caitlyn. You can be mine now, if that’s what you want. Is that what you want?”

“Yes—Vi, I—don’t stop,” Caitlyn says, and Vi does the exact opposite. She rocks her hips harder, moaning as she pushes herself as deep as she can go.

“Good girl,” Vi tells her, and Caitlyn sinks back onto her, needing more.

Vi’s hips jut, movements growing more frantic, and Caitlyn would give up everything around her, her home and her marriage and the privileges of high-society, to always know that she is wanted like this; yet Vi asks her to sacrifice nothing, and only gives as good as she gets. 

Chapter Text

The curtains flutter in the breeze. The last of the sunlight pulls thin, spreading across the Piltovan skyline, dusky orange beneath the deep, dark blue. Caitlyn stretches out, toes curling, and settles against her mountain of pillows. Vi lies with her head on Caitlyn’s stomach, humming softly to herself.

Caitlyn idly runs her fingers through Vi’s hair. She’s barely caught her breath, her body aches in ways that shouldn’t feel as good as they do, and outside, the last of the birdsong tangles with the faint din of the city. Caitlyn has always had an easy life, everything provided for her, but she’s scarcely known such peace.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d been missing it.

She’s been cut off from her own body, those last handful of years. Lying naked, blankets tangled and tossed aside, makes her realise just how much to her there is; steam fills the shower, bubbles line the bath, and Caitlyn’s spent an age ignoring the physical parts of herself.

The hip Vi brushes her fingers along; the bruise on her inner thigh, a deep, perfect violet; Vi’s messy hair spread across her stomach; her chest, rising and falling, ribs fanning out; the goosebumps that spread across her arms; her soft, pale skin, smooth and expansive; she’s never felt more comfortable, even with clothes on.

“Are you alright, Vi?” Caitlyn asks, once the warmth begins to dissipate.

Vi hums against her stomach. Caitlyn loves that she runs so hot; her body is like a furnace.

“I didn’t wear you out, did I?”

Vi huffs, repositioning herself so she’s looking up at Caitlyn.

It’s been two weeks since Caitlyn stopped living amongst the ruins of the life she’d never truly had and kissed Vi. It’s Vi’s third visit since everything and nothing changed between them, and Caitlyn doesn’t want the evening to end. Their time together slips between her fingers when they’re tangled together, nails digging into backs, mouths hot against one another.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Cupcake. It’s been a wild week, is all,” Vi says, letting out an eye-watering yawn. “Sometimes Zaun gets too exciting for even me.”

“You didn’t have to come all this way if you’ve had a busy week. Or you could’ve had me draw you a bath and spent the evening napping in my bed,” Caitlyn says, tucking Vi’s hair behind her ear.

Vi grins, teeth flashing.

“Like you could keep your hands off me.”

“I believe you instigated things, this time. I’d every intention of making you a nice dinner and sitting in front of the fire with a glass of wine.”

Vi pulls herself up, forearms planted either side of Caitlyn’s head. She catches her in a kiss, and Caitlyn’s back arches, pressing their bodies together. Caitlyn trails her fingers across the scratch marks she’s left across Vi’s back, promising herself it’s only going to be a kiss; she can tell how exhausted Vi is, and she’s still come all that way from the undercity.

Vi falls down next to her, face buried in her neck.

“You can sleep,” Caitlyn tells her.

“Didn’t come all this way to sleep. Got a mattress at home for that.”

“I think it sounds nice.”

Vi hums. All the breath filters out of her as she curls against Caitlyn. Caitlyn traces Vi’s tattoos across her shoulders, far from tired herself, wanting nothing more than to take in every inch of Vi’s beautiful body the unique vantage point offers her.

Five, ten minutes pass. Vi startles herself awake, jolting violently. Caitlyn holds on tighter, kissing her temple.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to,” Vi mumbles groggily. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, I—”

Vi plants a hand on Caitlyn’s thigh, pushing herself up. Caitlyn keeps her arms wrapped around Vi and pulls her close, shushing her.

“Could I visit you? In Zaun, I mean,” Caitlyn says.

“I’ve already taken you to Babette’s. Not much else worth seeing down there.”

“I’m not asking for a tour, or entertainment. I’m asking if I can visit you, Vi. You run yourself ragged, and that’s before you have to trek all the way here. It doesn’t have to be a one-way street. Can I come to Zaun?”

“I don’t know what ideas you’ve got about me and my life, but I don’t exactly have anywhere to put you up. My place is barely big enough for me and Powder. Not much privacy there, Cupcake.”

Vi speaks as though she’s grinding her teeth together. Caitlyn wants to do the same. She isn’t certain what she’s failing to convey, and part of her worries that Vi is intentionally misunderstanding her.

“Again, that isn’t what I’m asking for. I’m not expecting you to host me,” Caitlyn says.

Vi pulls away, propped on an elbow as she rubs her eyes.

“Hm. Sure. We can get a room at Babette’s, I guess.”

The worst part of Vi’s wilful misinterpretation is that she doesn’t even sound excited about it. There’s nothing playful in her voice. Her planning sounds dull, rote; she is adjusting her schedule not to let Caitlyn in, but because Caitlyn demands to be accommodated.

Caitlyn holds Vi’s jaw between a finger and thumb.

“Vi. You aren’t listening to me. I have no intention of travelling to Zaun for the pure purpose of sex,” Caitlyn says, whispering the last word despite their current predicament. “I simply thought I might spare you a journey, that we might spend time together. We could visit one of your local haunts for dinner. Go to a bar. I’m not particularly bothered, so long as I get to spend time with you.”

Vi stops grinding her teeth together, but her shoulders don’t drop.

“Huh?”

Caitlyn drops Vi’s jaw to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’m not making myself clear. I apologise, Vi. I fear a certain level of rejection, I suppose. I’m afraid I’m setting myself up for disappointment, yet…”

Vi tilts her head to the side. The exhaustion in her eyes clears, replaced by something mischievous Caitlyn almost regrets summoning.

“Cupcake. Are you asking me on a date?” Vi takes great pleasure in asking.

“Yes! It doesn’t have to be a date. A get-together would suffice, so long as I could see you, and—”

Vi cuts her off with a kiss, soft and slow. Caitlyn returns it, willing her heartbeat to slow, but can’t quite rid herself of the lump in her throat. She trails her knuckles along Vi’s face, slowly breaking the kiss, and eases herself off the edge of the bed. She grabs a robe, wraps it around herself, and tames her hair with her fingertips as Vi’s eyes fix on her back.

“You don’t have to head to Zaun now,” Vi says, but the humour comes out thin.

“I’m running you a bath. Come on,” Caitlyn says, turning to offer out a hand.

“Interesting. Seems to me like your bath is big enough for two, maybe three people.”

Twenty minutes later, they sit opposite one another, legs tangled, surrounded by hot water and clouds of bubbles. Vi hasn’t opened her eyes since she slid into the bath. Caitlyn takes slow sips of her wine, toying with the stem of the glass as she watches Vi sink inch by inch into the water, an altogether different picture of bliss than she was a short hour ago.

“Vi?” Caitlyn eventually asks.

“Mm?” Vi asks, blowing bubbles in the water.

“You don’t—” Caitlyn pauses, rubbing two fingers against a temple. “You understand that I don’t expect anything of you, don’t you? Certainly not sex. Not even your company. I appreciate both immensely, but I understand that I hold certain material advantages over you. I hope you know that I would never demand anything of you, that I’d never be disappointed if you did nothing but sleep the entire time you were here.”

Vi’s usual bravado and quick answers are nowhere to be found. The lump in Caitlyn’s throat is more pressing than ever, and Vi wipes the bubbles from her face, palm plastered over her mouth.

“I figured that if you just wanted to fuck, you would’ve done that months ago. You’re hot. You could get anyone you wanted. So I knew it wasn’t just about that,” Vi says, sentence ending prematurely.

“But?” Caitlyn asks.

“But you’re rich as hell. You’re married. Having a secret can be exciting, right? And it’s not like I have any ties to your world, not like I could make things awkward at one of your parties. And you always give me things. Expensive things, rings, necklaces, jewels, like it’s a thank you. This is easy for you. I bet you’ve spent your whole life getting what you want, and I bet you’ve always dismissed it with a click of your fingers,” Vi says.

Her words aren’t harsh. They don’t rise out of her, unbidden, drawn out in the heat of the moment. Vi’s gone over this again and again, and Caitlyn’s never even considered clarifying their situation.

“I’m—it isn’t for sex. The gifts, they aren’t—they aren’t an exchange. I’ve always given them to you, and—”

Vi holds up a hand for silence, saving Caitlyn from herself.

“Part of me knows that. Logically. But the other part of me, the bigger part, can’t figure out why else you’d do all this. Not to brag, but I’m a pretty great lay, and you do have the whole lonely housewife thing going on,” Vi says. “Like I said. You could have anyone, and I guess slumming it is exciting, for a while.”

Vi concludes her point with a shrug. Water sloshes over the sides of the bath as Caitlyn leans forward, cupping Vi’s face. She keeps her teeth grit together until Vi hesitantly meets her gaze, wanting Vi to really see her as she speaks.

“It’s strange, this life of mine. I feel like I am at your mercy, much of the time. You’re the one who has to make their way here, who has to come so far. You could tire of it any day, and I have all these conditions; Thursdays are the only day you can freely come over. You could disappear without a word and I’d never see you again, would never know what happened to you. When I give you rings and chains to pawn, part of me feels like a child. It is less that I am purchasing your services, and more that I am bribing you to keep coming back. I have so many useless trinkets, and they’re so worthless compared to getting to see you just one more time. Sad, isn’t it? I’ve spent my whole life detesting the sycophants who surround me, lured in by the Kiramman name, our wealth and power, yet here I am, trying to buy friendship,” Caitlyn says, sighing. The corner of Vi’s mouth quirks under Caitlyn’s thumb. “And I sincerely wish to help you and Powder, to do what I can against the accumulation of your debts. Vi, I—has it really never occurred to you that I might simply like you?”

Vi slips from Caitlyn’s grasp. Her head disappears under the water and iridescent, foamy mountains, and Caitlyn feels her legs slide against her own. Arms still held out, Caitlyn blinks at the empty space where Vi once was.

After an impossible fifteen seconds, Vi breaks through the surface with a tumult of water, gasping, pink hair plastered to her face.

She leans against the back of the bath, waiting for the water to stop rocking around her.

“You like me?” Vi asks. “You like me-like me?”

Caitlyn buries her face in her hands, getting bubbles in her hair. She’s never been the best at expressing herself, has always muddled what she wanted to say with far too many words, and sincerely wishes she could sink beneath the water and disappear forever.

“Vi. Listen to me. Meeting you is the only truly good thing that’s happened to me in years. Anticipating your visits each week only reminds me of how little I’ve had to look forward to of late, and how I have simply been going through the motions. I cook for you. I sewed up your clothing and your abdomen. Of late, you have spent a great deal of time inside me. Oh, for the love of—Vi, I let you take me atop my kitchen island. Do you honestly believe you don’t have a certain degree of power over me? Is it so difficult to imagine that I might have a great deal of affection for you?”

Vi’s expression is unreadable. She shuffles forward in the bath, knees arched, and presses her forehead to Caitlyn’s.

“I’m the biggest idiot, Cupcake. I thought I knew what I was getting into. I figured I could keep you entertained, could do what you wanted me to, because that was better than not seeing you again,” Vi murmurs. “Fuck what I want, right? No one gets what they want, not where I’m from. But if I could have it for a while, for a few months, that was something. But—shit. I’m sorry. Sorry I questioned your motives. Guess I was stuck in my own head.”

Caitlyn screws her eyes shut. The rush of blood in her ears drowns out her thoughts. It’s only with Vi’s acknowledgement of all she’s admitted, of the reply bestowed upon her, that Caitlyn truly lets herself feel all that’s been growing within her.

She shakes her head, arms wrapping around Vi’s shoulders. She holds her awkwardly, half sitting in her lap.

“I should’ve been more considerate. I should’ve taken real notice of the differences between us and our situations, and how power was distributed between us. I’m not certain what this is, but my feelings are sincere, Vi. I—you mean a lot to me,” Caitlyn murmurs. “It isn’t just sex.”

Vi’s hands splay across her back.

“The sex is pretty good though, right?”

“Oh, certainly,” Caitlyn says, laughing into her shoulder. “Now, stay still. Let me wash your hair.”

After, Caitlyn towel-dries Vi’s hair and brushes it through. She leaves Vi to nap on a sofa while she makes dinner, humming softly to herself. When the meal is pulled together, she kneels by the sofa, gently nudging Vi awake. She doesn’t want to disturb her, but Vi made her promise to wake her to eat, and Caitlyn won’t pretend that she doesn’t delight in getting to ply Vi with all her culinary creations.

“Mmph?” Vi asks.

“Dinner time,” Caitlyn says, giving her arm a tug. “Come.”

Vi shakes her off, head burrowing into one of the strictly decorative pillows.

“Bring it in here. We can eat off our laps.”

Caitlyn almost gasps.

“We can’t eat dinner on the sofa. It isn’t right,” she protests.

“I’m not eating at the island. I don’t know what’s been on there.”

Rolling her eyes, Caitlyn relents. Vi has a knack for making her forget all propriety and etiquette. She consoles herself by finding two silver trays, meant for serving afternoon tea on, and sits cross-legged on the sofa to better support her dinner. Vi slumps against the arm of the sofa, hair still damp, and eats with her fingers.

There’s a quiet thrill in it. Eating on the sofa shouldn’t excite Caitlyn, not after all they’ve done, yet she feels like a child, allowed to hold a gun for the first time.

“I’ve never done this before,” Caitlyn admits, giddy from something other than wine.

“I don’t have a table,” Vi says, slurping her noodles.

“My father taught me this recipe. Authentic Ionian cuisine,” Caitlyn explains. “There are few places in the city that serve this dish, and it’s never quite as good as home-cooking.”

“Your old man Ionian? That where you get it from?” Vi asks, gesturing vaguely at Caitlyn to express what it is. Caitlyn nods. “You ever been?”

“To Ionia? Many times. My family used to make the journey every few years, when I was a child. Since the implementation of Jayce’s Hexgates, it’s been an annual pilgrimage. Much of my paternal family resides there,” Caitlyn explains. Vi says nothing more, but her eyes remain fixed on Caitlyn as she shoves noodles into her mouth. “It’s a beautiful place. Vast and open, but far from empty. Each time I visit, I’m struck with the sensation that it’s how the world ought to be. For weeks after returning home, Piltover feels so close, so imposing.”

Caitlyn reaches out, wipes sauce from Vi’s chin, then licks it from her thumb.

“You know, Cait, I think that’s the first time you’ve mentioned your parents. I have an excuse—mine are dead. Super dead. But yours must live in this neighbourhood, right? I figured you didn’t get along with them, but your eyes sure lit up when you were talking about your old man,” Vi says.

Caitlyn can’t stand how astute Vi is, sometimes.

“I love my parents. I see them at least twice a week,” Caitlyn begins. “They, however, are deeply entrenched in the society they helped create. Being one of the oldest Houses in Piltover means we have to set an example for the rest of the population. There are a great deal of rules to follow, both written and unspoken. I suppose I like to escape all of that, when I’m with you. I hope that doesn’t sound as though I’m dismissing all I have.”

“Nah,” Vi says, shrugging. “Zaun and Piltover do things different. You have all these rules, all these expectations. Family means blood up here. You don’t get a say in it, don’t get to opt out. Down in Zaun, family’s what you make of it. Sure, me and Powder had the same parents, but that’s not what makes her my sister. She’s my sister because I love her.”

“I love my parents,” Caitlyn repeats, shoulders squaring. “I—is everything alright, Vi? With Powder? It’s only that you really are so exhausted, and I only wondered if…”

Vi frowns. She brings the bowl to her mouth, tips it back, and gulps down the broth. Setting the empty bowl onto the tray, she slumps against the arm of the sofa, scowling her way around an answer.

“Powder’s fine. She’s an adult, and I’ve got to learn to keep out of her business. Look at me. I don’t have any right to get pissed off when she disappears for a few days without saying anything,” Vi says. “Even if she comes back covered in grease and soot, with handfuls of gold.”

“Anyone would worry in your position.”

“Mm. Maybe. But me being me, I figured Sevika might have something to do with it. She’s tried roping Powder into her schemes before, so I went marching in, yelling at her. She just sat there, blew a cloud of smoke in my face, and told me she knew where Powder was.

“Sent me all around Zaun for nothing. Her idea of a prank, I guess. Anyway, Powder’s back, she’s fine. She’s getting up to something and it might be in Piltover, but again: I don’t get to be pissed about that.”

Vi sighs, stretching out. Caitlyn places a hand on her knee. Her mind scrambles for something comforting to say, but the sound of the front door unlocking sends her bolting to her feet.

The hefty door swings open. Caitlyn and Vi freeze, eyes fixed on one another. Footsteps echo through the foyer, and after half a dozen heartbeats, each one promising to burst Caitlyn’s chest open, Amelia calls, “Caitlyn? I’m home, I’m—”

The words trail off, paving the way for incoherent mumbling.

A thousand worst-case scenarios flash through her mind, but all Caitlyn can think is that she hasn’t had time to make the bed. The bedsheets are a mess, and Caitlyn Kiramman never makes a start on her day without ensuring there isn’t a single crease in the duvet.

Vi makes several wild gestures with her hands. Caitlyn somehow understands the intent behind them. A few questions wordlessly pass between them, and Vi ends her point by pointing at the door.

Right. Amelia. Amelia in the foyer, a paltry few dozen feet away from Vi.

She has to do something about that.

Smoothing her clothes and hair as she leaves the room, Caitlyn takes a deep breath, prays there aren’t any new bruises blossoming on her throat, and turns the corner to see Amelia with one hand planted against a column, fighting with the shoe on her left foot.

“Ah. Dear. There you are,” Amelia says, close to slurring. “Could you—I don’t think—”

She gestures wildly at her shoe. A little of Caitlyn’s fear dissipates at the sight of her wife so deeply inebriated, but her heart’s still pounding loud enough to drown all else out.

“You’re home early,” Caitlyn dares to say, wincing when her voice comes out high.

Amelia hums. Caitlyn pulls her shoe off with absolutely no problems and places it with the other on the rack.

“Met with a new investor,” Amelia mumbles, hands raking through her hair. “Gave me a bottle of Noxian spirits, wanted to celebrate the agreement and—and not in a state to, ah. Work later, you see, it’s rather…”

Amelia begins drifting through the house. Caitlyn places a hand on her shoulder, trying to guide her away from the stairs, towards one of the hundred unused rooms in their shell of a house, but the light from the sitting room lures her towards it. She hums, unsteady on her feet, and Caitlyn bites her tongue.

Vi won’t have been foolish enough to wait around. Caitlyn’s seen how quickly she can make her escape through a high window, but she’s so certain there’ll be part of Vi imprinted on everything she touched, the shadow of her draped across every room.

“Amelia, perhaps we should get you some water,” Caitlyn says, taking her elbow.

It doesn’t deter Amelia. She steps into the sitting room, hands on her hips, and stares at the trays Vi had time to shove onto the table. She tilts her head, staring at the two plates, the two knives, two of everything, and Caitlyn feels the floor begin to shift beneath her, feels her palms grow clammy.

“Oh!” Amelia says. “Thursdays. Jayce comes over on Thursdays. I must have just missed him. I hope you gave him my love.”

The floor steadies itself. The earthquake subsides.

“Yes. Jayce,” Caitlyn says, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. “He was—he was in a rush to get back to the lab. You know how he is. Now, sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

Amelia stands at the mantelpiece, running her fingers over the ornaments as though she’s never seen them. Caitlyn hurries out the room, closing the door behind her, so she can hear if Amelia starts wandering the house.

She hasn’t seen Amelia this drunk in years. She didn’t know she could get like that; for all the drinks she takes as waiters pass at galas, she’s never anything short of perfectly composed. Taking the stairs up two at a time, Caitlyn wonders if this is her fault. The illogical, scrambling part of her is convinced that Amelia knows, that she’s drowning her sorrows; she’s shaken enough to delude herself into thinking her wife would feel one way or another about her infidelity.

Caitlyn grabs the boots Vi’s left on the windowsill. She winces at the thought of her making the journey back to Zaun with only her socks for protection, and shoves said boots in the back of her closet. She’d throw them out the window, but she expects Vi is already across the river.

She makes the bed. She throws open the windows, airing the room out.

She hurries back to Amelia’s side, almost forgets the promised water, and finds her curled up on the sofa, half asleep. She looks different, like that. With her eyes closed, hair askew across her flushed face, she looks more like the woman Caitlyn first met; the woman she loved enough to ignore the incessant gnawing in the pit of her gut.

“Amelia,” she says, kneeling at her side. “You need to drink something before you sleep. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“Mm?” Amelia asks, blinking her eyes open. “Thank you, dear, you always know how to help.”

Amelia reaches for the glass. She misses. Caitlyn takes her wrist, steadies her hand, and presses the water into her palm.

She gulps the glass down in one go, then drops it to the rug.

“I really was, you know,” Amelia murmurs, hand falling to Caitlyn’s face. It’s damp with condensation from the glass. “With an investor. I think I should—that I want to—hm. I’m trying, Caitlyn. I really am.”

“I know,” Caitlyn says.

The worst of it is that she almost believes it.

The worst of it is that she’s believed it time and time again.

“So cold in here. Would you be a dear and close the window?” Amelia says, nuzzling her face into a cushion.

Caitlyn squeezes Amelia’s hand as she gets to her feet. She stands by the window, open to facilitate Vi’s quick escape, and shuts out the cool air of the night, shared by both Piltover and Zaun.

Chapter Text

Vi doesn’t arrive the next week, or the week after.

Caitlyn feared she wouldn’t, but spent a week convincing herself Vi would return for her boots, if nothing else. It’s too risky for her to be there. It’s a miracle it took as long as it did for Amelia to return early; they’ve hardly practised an abundance of caution.

They haven’t even confined themselves to one room.

Caitlyn spends most evenings sat by her bedroom window, pretending to read. Amelia works more or less as much as she always does, but Caitlyn finds herself aware of her presence in the house in ways she doesn’t entirely detest.

It’s small things. During dinner one evening, Amelia asks if the recipe was her own creation; she notices it’s something they haven’t had before, and listens when Caitlyn explains her inspiration for the dish. Another evening, Amelia asks for advice on a work matter. Instead of shutting herself in her study afterwards, she works in the sitting room while Caitlyn does the same.

The atmosphere is still fraught, but the tug between them feels like it’s pulling them in the right direction. Caitlyn begins to wonder if she couldn’t have tried harder, too. Amelia’s faults are her own, but surely Caitlyn could’ve been more forgiving. She could have been more dedicated to making it work.

Amelia’s trying. It isn’t much, but it’s something. It’s a first step, no matter how small.

And Caitlyn isn’t blameless, either. She toys not with the impossibility of never seeing Vi again, but in her whole life rewriting itself, making her wife as attentive and thoughtful as her lover; changing their roles, making her marriage worth something.

Caitlyn keeps catching Amelia’s eye in the mirror as she applies the last touches to her outfit for the night’s events. Her parents are hosting one of their renowned galas, and Caitlyn can’t get out of it as easily as she did Councillor Medarda’s.

“Is something wrong?” Caitlyn asks, catching Amelia’s eye in the mirror.

“No, no,” Amelia says. Caitlyn raises her brow, screwing in an earring she knows exactly how much money Vi could get for, and Amelia continues. “I was looking for a particular chain for this ornament, but I seem to have misplaced it. You know how I am with jewellery.”

Caitlyn purses her lips together. She averts her eyes from Amelia’s in the mirror and spends a long moment putting in the other earring.

“Here,” Caitlyn says, stepping back and gesturing to her vanity. “I’m sure I have something you can use.”

Amelia smiles, oddly bashful, and moves to the vanity in search of a suitable chain. She only thinks hers misplaced, not altogether missing; she has so much that she need never think of it, need not miss it, though she has no debts of her own to pay.

“Ah. Perfect. Would you—?” Amelia asks, sliding the ornament onto the chain and holding it out.

Caitlyn takes it with mostly steady hands, gestures for Amelia to turn around, and drapes it around her neck. She brings the clasp to a loop, humming to herself. Seven years ago, when they first met, Caitlyn would’ve felt her every movement slow, would’ve been forced to reckon with how soft the skin on the curve of Amelia’s neck was, made clumsy by an intimacy she wished would never end; now, the time elapsed and dilapidated between them makes her chest ache.

She doesn’t remember the last time they were this close.

“Thank you, dear,” Amelia says, turning on the spot. She brushes her hair over her shoulders, smiles at Caitlyn, and places a hand on her cheek. “You look lovely, by the way. Your mother will be glad to see you in that dress.”

Amelia smiles, kisses her, and heads for the door. Caitlyn remains frozen to the spot. Amelia kissed her; it wasn’t deep, it didn’t linger, but it was more than a peck on the cheek. Caitlyn brushes her fingers against her lips. Amelia’s mouth is nothing like Vi’s. There’s no scar to press against her lips, no smile to do the same.

Caitlyn spends the car ride over to the Kiramman estate with her heart in her throat. Amelia reaches over, idly taking Caitlyn’s hand. This Caitlyn is used to, though no one’s gaze rests on them. Amelia’s hands are smaller than Vi’s. Smoother, too. Soft, unmarred, with no callouses pressed to the pads of her fingers.

“Something on your mind?” Amelia asks.

Caitlyn starts. She’d pull her hand away, but Amelia’s fingers entwine with her own.

“Going over the guestlist in my head,” Caitlyn says, gaze fluttering to the window. “Thinking of how to make the rounds most efficiently.”

“We could split up. Tackle the most troublesome of guests separately, and rescue one another when needed,” Amelia suggests.

Caitlyn laughs a little. If nothing else, they’ve always made the perfect pair in public. They have it down to an art.

The car pulls up to the Kiramman estate. Amelia gets out first, rounds the car, and opens Caitlyn’s door for her again. Caitlyn hooks her arm around Amelia’s, finding it so much easier to be close, now there are so many eyes on them. The evening is warm, the estate grounds extensive, and dozens of guests make the rounds in their finery.

Caitlyn and Amelia head into the house, nodding their greetings as they go. Their coats are taken from them in the foyer, and Caitlyn grabs a champagne flute as a waiter passes.

Amelia raises her brow, but Caitlyn simply says, “You know the stress of being a Kiramman at a Kiramman party.”

Few things make Caitlyn’s martial home seem modest, but her childhood home is one of those. The ceilings contend with the sky, there is more open space in the foyer alone than all of Zaun, and Caitlyn looks up at the great staircase, splitting in two at the top, with a dizzy sort of reverence; how did she take this all for granted for so long?

“Caitlyn!” Her father’s voice draws her from her reminiscing. “Amelia! It’s so good to see you both.”

Caitlyn moves easily into his embrace. He kisses her cheek, places a hand on her shoulder, and beams at her. The smile that blossoms across her face is likely to be the only sincere one of the evening. Her father has always adored her, has always been her champion; what would he think of all she’d done, those last months? He’s always preached honesty. Maybe he’d be willing to forgive her, if only she told him the truth.

“Tobias!” Amelia says, moving in to embrace him. “You and Cassandra have really outdone yourselves this time.”

Her father can’t smother the glint in his eye. He rocks on the balls of his feet, hands clasped together, and begins telling Amelia all about the caterers they’re using this year. Caitlyn brings her glass to her lips, only to find it already empty.

“Ah. There’s your mother!” Tobias says, waving her over.

A waiter follows in her wake, carrying a tray of square glasses. Caitlyn takes one, sipping neat whiskey as Amelia embraces her mother, too. She makes it look so easy. She makes sure everyone sees her embrace Cassandra Kiramman, Councillor, host, mother-in-law.

“Caitlyn, darling,” her mother says, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Perfect timing.”

Caitlyn nods through a mouthful of whiskey.

She can’t remember what the purpose of tonight’s gala is. She can’t remember what the purpose of them any of them are; maybe they’ve never had one. Why do they force themselves to gather, to dress in their finery, hoping to outdo one another, only to stand around and follow the rules of etiquette, saying things they don’t mean, keeping quiet about all that actually matters?

Caitlyn can’t remember ever truly enjoying one of these evenings. She’s never been so happy as when she was with Vi, curled up on the sofa, talking about nothing. Even her evenings with Jayce are preferable to this. He always speaks his mind, even if there’s far too much of it.

Caitlyn puts her empty glass down as Amelia takes her arm, leading her into the main ballroom. Ballroom. Who has a ballroom in their home? Caitlyn spent a brief evening in Zaun, but it was enough to make her see her parents’ estate – all she’s heir to – through new eyes.

In Zaun, they scramble to make use of every scrap of land. There’s a purpose in everything, supported by corrugated iron and bolts the size of her fist. In Piltover, they delight in empty spaces to fill with empty conversation.

They make their rounds of the ballroom. People are as thrilled to see her as they always are. They ask politely about her work, and Caitlyn downplays the societal issues the charities she’s on the board of are struggling so hard to contest with, for the comfort of her parents’ guests. She’s known these people her entire life. She knows their extensive family trees, their business holdings, she knows who’s funding innovation and who’s growing miserly in their old age.

She knows nothing about them.

“That’s your fourth drink, dear,” Amelia murmurs as they escape yet another meaningless conversation.

“You’re counting?”

Caitlyn finishes her drink – champagne again, this time, that’s safe – and places it on a stray table along the outside of the ballroom. She turns to Amelia, meeting her gaze, trying to ask more with her question without actually wanting an honest answer.

“It’s hard not to,” Amelia says, taking a drink of her own. “It’s an incredible turn out, don’t you think?”

“No one turns down an invitation from a Kiramman,” Caitlyn murmurs.

“You’ve never liked these events, have you? Not that I can blame you. I think I only find them as agreeable as I do because I shift into work-mode the moment I arrive,” Amelia muses, swirling her drink in her glass. “Do you remember the first galas we attended together? It was one of the few times in my life I’ve resisted the allure of networking.”

Amelia raises her brow. Caitlyn takes a drink, hiding a smile behind it.

“We got in so much trouble with my mother,” Caitlyn says.

They’d make it thirty, forty-five minutes, before disappearing up the stairs, locking themselves in Caitlyn’s childhood bedroom or some grand bathroom. They’d only mean to disappear for ten minutes, twenty at the most, but the whole mood of the party would’ve shifted, upon their return.

“I swear I saw her laughing about it, later on,” Amelia hums.

She reaches out, fingers trailing down Caitlyn’s arm. Goosebumps rise in the wake of the touch. They could head upstairs now. Caitlyn’s childhood bedroom is the same as it’s always been, no matter what’s changed between them. They could go upstairs. It would be easy. Things would almost be the way they used to.

“I’m having a nice evening,” Amelia says.

It would be so, so easy if Amelia were the most complicated thing in her life, and they could pretend nothing had fractured between them.

“Oh,” Caitlyn says, blinking herself out of her trance. “Jayce is here.”

“Poor boy. He looks distressed,” Amelia says. “You’d best go cheer him up.”

Caitlyn latches onto the excuse to escape. She crosses the room, surprisingly steady on her feet, and deftly deflects any attention that flies her way.

Jayce is stood in a corner, staring down at a pile of notes. He’s only there because Caitlyn’s parents asked it of him, and he’s only there in body; his mind is clearly still in his lab at the Academy.

“You’re late,” Caitlyn says, sneaking up on him.

He starts, spins around, and relaxes at the sight of her. He claps a hand on her shoulder, forces himself to laugh, and says, “Don’t you start. It’s been one hell of a day.”

“Did you lose hours of your life wondering which of your dozen identical white and gold suits you should wear?” Caitlyn says, feeling the muscles in her shoulders relax.

“Very funny,” he says, tugging on his lapels. “Someone broke into my lab. Again.”

“Again? And they still have no idea who’s responsible?” Caitlyn asks.

“Not even Grayson has any answers for me,” Jayce sighs. “And they’re only taking the strangest things. Components. Tools. The hextech is right there, along with all my notes. I’d blame Noxian spies, but none of the truly valuable things have gone missing. Viktor’s convinced I’ve mislaid things, but…”

Jayce shrugs. He reaches for a drink, hands it to Caitlyn, and takes one of his own.

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Viktor’s a lot more organised than you are, and if he isn’t worried, there’s no reason for you to be. Maybe it’s an Academy student in need of a few components for their final project. You know how desperate students can get.”

Jayce isn’t convinced. Caitlyn changes the subject to the delightfully inane, and they go from discussing the weather to commenting on the live band playing at the end of the ballroom, to making snide remarks about some of the guests’ comportment.

“You keep looking at her,” Jayce says, working his way to the bottom of his drink.

“What?”

“Amelia. You keep looking at her,” Jayce says. “Did something happen?”

Caitlyn furrows her brow, pretending she doesn’t know exactly what he means.

“I can look at my wife if I wish to,” Caitlyn says, then grabs the arm of a passing guest. “Councillor Hoskel! Mr Talis was just saying how he’d like to discuss his latest ideas for airship improvement with you.”

Jayce glowers at Caitlyn. She mouths love you as she leaves, heading back across the room.

Jayce isn’t wrong. So often, Caitlyn spends these events pointedly not looking at Amelia. She doesn’t want to see who she’s talking to, or how she holds herself. She doesn’t want to give herself new torments to read too much or too little into.

Yet tonight, she finds herself glancing Amelia’s way. Catching her eye, more than once, and sharing soft smiles across the room. It’s different. It shouldn’t be new, but it is. Caitlyn heads back over to her, approaching her from behind.

Amelia’s attention is fixed on the far side of the ballroom. Caitlyn follows her gaze, once she’s close, and sees the darkened, tight glare of a woman she’s earnt herself in return.  

Everything clicks into place.

Caitlyn’s palms are clammy, her face burning. Of course. How did she not see it? Amelia always gets like this after a break-up: she comes dangerously close to doting on Caitlyn, convinces herself she’s turned over a new leaf, and actually puts a modicum of effort into conversation.

How did she not see it? Was she too wrapped up in her own affair? Does she have any right to the anger filling her throat when she’s spent the evening convincing herself Amelia could somehow take Vi’s place in more than her bed?

“Really, Amelia?” Caitlyn asks. “Oliviana Farrow? What is she? Nineteen?”

Amelia tenses. She puts her glass on the table and turns to Caitlyn, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Twenty-one,” is all Amelia says.

Caitlyn laughs. She’s certain it’s loud enough to draw attention to them, but she can’t hold it back. It bursts out of her with frightening clarity.

“I can’t believe you,” Caitlyn says. “Or I can believe you. I can’t believe myself—why don’t I learn? Why did I think you might have some genuine regard for me without any ulterior motives?”

“Caitlyn,” Amelia says, low, chiding. “This is hardly the place.”

“Well. It appears to be the place for you to make sad-eyes at your little girlfriend,” Caitlyn snaps.

There are definitely people watching, now.

“Caitlyn, dear. You’re drunk,” Amelia says, sighing. “Perhaps we should step outside.”

Amelia takes her arm. Caitlyn stands her ground.

“I don’t think we have anything to discuss,” Caitlyn says, pulling her arm back. “The worst of it is that I can’t bring myself to be angry at you, only myself. I—”

“Caitlyn.”

Her mother’s voice is sobering.

She doesn’t resist when her mother takes her arm, and she keeps pace with her as she’s marched out of the room, through the foyer, and pulled into her study. Caitlyn leans against the desk, hand on her forehead. She doesn’t have time for this. She doesn’t have space for this. There’s too much in her head and heart right now, and the last thing she needs is her mother lecturing her on bringing shame to the Kiramman name.

“Caitlyn,” her mother repeats sharply, as though she’s fourteen and has snuck out of the Academy to show her rifle off to a girl with undesirable connections. “Do I want to know what that outrageous display was about? Because I fear half our guests have a solid grasp on the situation.”

Caitlyn rubs her hands against her face. She takes a deep breath, reminds herself that she’s twenty-eight, and that she has a lifetime of experience dealing with her mother.

“I’m sorry, mother. That was unacceptable. I should’ve kept my temper in check,” Caitlyn says. It’s a solid start, but she ruins it by saying, “But Amelia shouldn’t be openly mourning the loss of her girlfriend, and—”

“Caitlyn. I don’t want to hear it,” her mother says. Caitlyn blinks her eyes clear, focusing on her mother, guarding the door with her arms folded over her chest. “I understand that you and Amelia have an arrangement, and you need to honour that. You need to keep your feelings to yourself in company. You know how important tonight is to your father.”

Caitlyn laughs. Short, sharp, like the jolt of pain that racks her chest.

“You understand we have an agreement?” Caitlyn says, hearing her voice tremble. “Mother. What led you to that conclusion? Amelia does what she wants, who she wants. It’s as simple as that. I’ve never had a say in it.”

Rarely does Cassandra Kiramman’s face belie what she’s truly feeling, unless she wants her target to feel the wrath of what they’ve wrought. Caitlyn reads too much in her mother’s expression remaining as it is; the last five years rearrange themselves between them, and her mother understands the role she herself has unwittingly played.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I simply—”

“Caitlyn.”

“I drank more than I should’ve, and perhaps part of me came looking for a fight, and—”

“Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn swallows the lump in her throat.

Her mother steps forward, placing a hand on her arm. Trembling, Caitlyn takes another step, but it still doesn’t close the distance between them. If this doesn’t, perhaps nothing ever will.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t the time or place for it,” Caitlyn murmurs, hands on her face again. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. I’ve endured enough of these galas to get through one more night; all I need is some water, something to eat…”

Her mother says nothing. Slowly, hands wrap around her wrists, prying them from her face. Caitlyn is a child again, barely eight, explaining to her mother why she can’t wear that uniform to school, though she doesn’t understand it herself. Her mother is there, silent, taking in her words, and in that moment, truly knowing what Caitlyn needs.

You may wear which uniform you wish, she’d said, all those years ago. The Academy has no right to dictate what any daughter of mine wears.

Now, she simply says, “I’ll call my driver.”

“Mother?” Caitlyn asks.

“You’re in no state to return to the festivities. I’ll make your excuses for you and let the relevant parties know you’re under the weather.”

Caitlyn doesn’t cry. She absolutely doesn’t cry. The alcohol in her veins makes it hard to focus her vision, but she keeps her composure, now it no longer matters, and answers her mother with a sharp, grateful nod.

Her mother leaves the room. Caitlyn takes a moment to catch her breath, to adjust her hair, her dress. She’ll leave through one of the side doors the guests aren’t privy too, but she needs to make herself presentable, if only for herself.

Her father bursts in, all confusion. Whatever her mother’s told him has yet to sink in, and he offers Caitlyn the hug she didn’t realise she needed quite so badly. He walks her to the car, opens the door for her, and speaks with the driver.

Caitlyn has a vague awareness of buckling her belt. The car thrums to life behind her and the city drifts by, darkening with the long-overdue dusk. Caitlyn rests her head against the window, praying that Amelia will patch things over with her girlfriend and not come home tonight.

Caitlyn lets herself imagine how their argument played out. Perhaps Amelia promised to leave Caitlyn for her; that’s the sort of things twenty-one-year-olds are eager to believe. Caitlyn wonders if Amelia’s used that line on a lot of women, if she’s blamed Caitlyn for not freeing her; Caitlyn wonders what she’d say, if Amelia made her demands.

It wouldn’t look right. Not for someone of Caitlyn’s standing, not for a Kiramman. They should’ve had an arrangement all along, should’ve agreed on the ground rules years ago.

But Caitlyn wouldn’t have been happy with that. It isn’t what she wanted; it isn’t what she wants, however much that counts for.

“Sorry to hear you’re feeling under the weather, ma’am,” the driver says, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Mm,” Caitlyn says.

It’s no use dwelling on what Amelia does or doesn’t say to her numerous, gullible women. Amelia doesn’t want a divorce. She doesn’t want to be in a position of honesty, doesn’t want to have to explain to these women why she won’t make a real commitment; she wants the Kiramman name, the connections, and all the ease of infidelity.

“Down here, is it, ma’am?” the driver asks. “Mr Kiramman gave me directions, but better safe than sorry.”

“Mm,” Caitlyn repeats again.

They turn into her street. Caitlyn stares up at her dark house, at the bedroom window that hasn’t been hoisted open. For all she knows, Amelia is a car behind hers, unable to endure the embarrassment of the scene that unfolded.

Caitlyn jerks forward as though the driver’s slammed on the brakes.

“Ma’am? Everything alright back there?”

“Perfect. Thank you. Except I’d like to head to the river,” Caitlyn says.

The driver meets her gaze in the rear-view mirror, brow raised. Caitlyn doesn’t explain herself. She doesn’t have to. She has agency in this, if nothing else, and she can head to the river, to the bridge connecting Piltover to Zaun, Caitlyn to a sense of freedom.

“Right you are, ma’am,” the driver says when Caitlyn doesn’t retract her order.

She sits back. She sits straighter. She imagines the river running beneath her, cutting her off from all that conspires within ballrooms and her marital bed to confine her to who she thinks she has to be.

The driver pulls up by the bridge, when directed. Caitlyn gets out of the car, steady on her feet thanks to the cool night air, and tips him generously. She asks that he be discreet, and he nods, leaving with another right you are.

Alone and dressed for a Councillor’s gala, Caitlyn crosses the bridge into Zaun.

The water flows steadily beneath her feet. Neon lights hum softly in the distance. Caitlyn holds her breath, steps into Zaun, and realises that the option has been available to her all this time.

The choice is hers, and she’s finally making it.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn takes out her earrings, unhooks her necklace, and shoves them in the deep pockets of her coat. She wraps it around herself, too unsteady to fumble with the buttons, and watches Zaun rise around her as the lift stutters down the carved-out cliffside.

The clash of perpetual shadows and artificial lights dull her senses. She’s deafened by Zaun before she descends into it, lost to the press of the crowd though she’s the only soul taking the lift down.

It shudders to a stop. There are no doors to slide open. Caitlyn’s heels clip against the uneven, gleaming streets of Zaun, but she’s one drink shy of taking the ridiculously inappropriate footwear off.

She’d stumble with or without them. She walks with her arms wrapped around herself, meeting no one’s eye. Some people look at her, but most don’t care. She’s hardly the most outlandish individual to grace Zaun on a Friday night: her coat is indistinct in the dark, covers most of her dress, and she sticks to the shadows. No light catches the diamond studs in her pocket.

Caitlyn loses her way in Zaun. The smell of street food is intoxicating, the swell of cheer in the late-night cafes and perpetually-open bars alluring, but though she lingers, she has a destination in mind. She walks in circles, almost stumbles into dead-end alleyways. A few people whistle for her attention, but ignoring them turns out to be the best thing to do.

Her heels catch on a loose paving stone. She stumbles, knowing there’s no recovering from it, but a hand grips her elbow. Caitlyn’s heart pounds in her chest, and she looks up, meeting the grey eyes of an imposing woman, cigar between her teeth, draped in a red shawl.

“Oh—thank you,” Caitlyn says, gaze dropping to her feet to ensure they’re firm on the ground. “I seem to have got turned around at some point.”

With her hand still gripping Caitlyn’s arm, the woman says, “Turned around and then some. This isn’t topside.”

“Yes. I’m aware. Thank you,” Caitlyn says, distantly aware of the people shadowing the woman.

The woman takes a long pull on her cigar, breathing a cloud of smoke into the night air. It’s nothing like the scent of the brothel.

“Turned around on your way where, Princess?”

And isn’t that the real question?

“I was—Babette’s. I was on my way to Babette’s. Are you familiar with the establishment?” Caitlyn says.

Scoffing, the woman says, “I could save you time and money if that’s what you’re after, topside.”

Caitlyn’s tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. The woman lets go of her as she speaks, and Caitlyn fears she’ll stumble all over again.

“Oh, that’s very kind, you’re very handsome, but—”

“Boss,” one of the people shadowing the woman says out the corner of his mouth. “The meeting?”

The woman grunts. She pulls her cigar from her mouth and flicks it, ash flying his way.

“Duty calls. Take a left there, cut through the alley, and join the main road. You’re not far,” the woman says.

Not being far doesn’t count for much when the streets are a maze. Caitlyn calls her thanks after the woman as she departs, leaving without so much as a wave or a glance back.

Caitlyn follows her directions. She wanders until her head is spinning and she finally recognises her surroundings.

She knocks on the plain, iron door. The hatch slides open and narrowed eyes appraise her. Caitlyn opens her mouth to protest she knows not what, but the hatch closes and the door swings open. She’s let in without any fanfare, without any bribery or begging, and she stands in the hallway of the brothel, and thinks—what now?

Masks. She remembers Vi handing her a mask, when last they were there. Caitlyn finds them hung by the entrance. She grabs one, not sure what it is – some sort of cat, maybe? – and puts it on. Upside down. She mutters to herself as she turns it the right way, carefully adjusting her hair around the band and making more of a mess of it.

She makes it to the end of the corridor before all courage fails her. She’s far from disappointed in herself: she expected to lose all sense of urgency, of agency, on the bridge, turn around, and walk herself home.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” a woman asks.

Caitlyn turns around, then looks down.

A yordle smiles, all business, patience promising to wear thin with the slightest provocation.

“I’m looking for Vi,” Caitlyn says, voice loud enough to make her own head rattle.

The woman raises her brow. Caitlyn can’t tell whether it’s her statement or her accent that does it.

“Most of the girls are,” she says, chuckling. “But she’s not working tonight, honey. I could point you in the direction of someone else who might be to your liking; my girls are only the best.”

Caitlyn shakes her head. The mask slips down the bridge of her nose.

“No, no. I’m not—not a patron. I’m a friend of Vi’s. I needed to speak with her about… needed to see her,” Caitlyn says.

The yordle’s whole countenance changes. Stupid, stupid. How many people come in here and try that line, thinking they’re entitled to the workers beyond the brothel, by virtue of a past transaction?

“Please,” Caitlyn says, digging deeper. “I’ve come a long way.”

“Clearly,” the woman says. After a considerable pause, during which Caitlyn’s certain she’s going to be thrown out, the yordle says, “Vi’s not working-working. I was down a bouncer and she offered to step in. Girl of many talents, that one. If you wanted to rent a private room, I’ll pass your message along. It’s up to Vi whether she sees you or you get a lifetime ban.”

Caitlyn nods and nods. She hands over far too much money. The woman says nothing, smiles, and leads her to one of the private rooms. Private. Again, there’s only a beaded curtain.

Still, there’s somewhere to sit. Caitlyn’s feet throb the moment she’s off them. She removes her mask, clutches it tight, and admires it for the art piece it is. Feathers are glued down to mimic iridescent fur. Small gems, certainly not real, catch light in all the right places. Caitlyn runs her fingertips across the curve of the nose.

The sounds of the brothel filter in. Caitlyn doesn’t have to wonder what girl Vi’s with, though she’s certain it would’ve been the loudest. She closes her eyes, inhaling the memory of smoke. She could sleep. It’s her room, she paid for it. She could drift off hope to wake somewhere else; not in the brothel, but not in Piltover, either.

The beads clatter together. Caitlyn will open her eyes in a moment, just a moment.

“Caitlyn?”

Vi’s voice comes through clearer than her own heartbeat.

Caitlyn blinks her eyes open. Vi kneels before her, confusion overriding any potential anger, and Caitlyn mirrors the sentiment. She doesn’t know what she’s doing there, either. She doesn’t know how she got there, beyond a car and her own two feet.

“Mm,” Caitlyn says.

“Hey, Cupcake,” Vi says, helping her sit up. She hadn’t realised she wasn’t sitting up. “What’s a nice Piltie like you doing in a place like this?”

She hates the concern in Vi’s voice. She hates the tension in her jaw, the sobriety in her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Vi was supposed to greet her with a snort of a laugh, saying she didn’t expect Caitlyn to actually venture into Zaun on her own, and the alcohol in her system was supposed to make Caitlyn charming and bold.

“I don’t know,” Caitlyn mumbles. “I wanted to see you. I understand you’re busy, but—you didn’t turn up. I was worried, I think, I…”

Vi places a hand on her knee and says, “I didn’t mean to worry you. There’s a lot going on down here.”

Caitlyn nods. Of course there is. Of course Vi has her own life, of course that life won’t always fit in with the narrow window of time Caitlyn has to offer her.

“Can you stay? Please?” Caitlyn hears herself say. “I paid for the room. I can pay for more time, only—don’t go. Please.”

“No can do, Cupcake. I’m keeping an eye on things tonight. It’s just me and the doorman, and I’ve gotta make sure there aren’t any shitbag patrons around,” Vi says. She gets to her feet, shrugging her jacket off. “I’ve only got a few more hours, okay? Don’t go anywhere. And if anyone comes in, whip out your shotgun, okay?”

Caitlyn laughs, or tries to. It comes out as a choked sob. Vi isn’t pushing her away. Vi isn’t angry she’s there, only inconvenienced, and Vi wants her to stay. She wants her to wait. She doesn’t have to go home, doesn’t have to drag herself back to that big, empty house, where the thought of Amelia being there and not being there are equally nauseating.

Vi brings her a glass of water and drapes her jacket over shoulders, though Caitlyn’s coat more than suffices. Vi’s always looking after people. Caitlyn can’t find the words to thank her. She settles against the sofa, hopes she smiles up at Vi, and lets her eyes flutter closed as Vi leaves.

She drifts in and out of uneasy sleep. She pulls Vi’s jacket over her head, blocking out the sounds of the brothel around her. When Vi shakes her awake, Caitlyn feels worse for having drifted off. Her head’s pounding and her limbs have turned to led.

“Vi?” Caitlyn mumbles.

“You’re alright. You’re at Babette’s, remember? You got all dressed up and decided to slum it with us,” Vi says, helping Caitlyn sit up. “Time to go, okay? You remember where your feet are, right?”

“Yes, thank you. Exactly where I left them,” Caitlyn says, hands on the edge of the sofa to hoist herself up.

“Looks like you left ‘em in Piltover,” Vi says, catching Caitlyn around her waist. “C’mon.”

Vi guides her down the corridor, calling her goodbyes, and out into the open embrace of the night. Caitlyn has no earthly idea what time it is, but the air is cool, and Vi is warm against her.

“You’re still a ruffian, you know. Your manners haven’t improved at all,” Caitlyn says, clinging to Vi’s shoulder. “Making me walk in these shoes is disgraceful.”

Laughing, Vi says, “Not tall enough already, huh, Cupcake? I’m impressed you made it down here without falling on your ass. How much wine did you have this time?”

“Mm. Not wine. Champagne and whiskey. Two-hundred years old. Gone in a few mouthfuls.”

“And you haven’t thrown up yet?”

“I haven’t,” Caitlyn says, chest puffed out in pride.

Vi steers her through the increasingly narrow streets, arm about her waist all the while. Her parents’ gala happened a lifetime ago. She can’t remember exactly what it was that made her so furious, that compelled her to lash out; it wasn’t surprise. It wasn’t the shock of it all.

Disappointment, maybe. Disappointment in herself. The weight of her own hypocrisy.

They come, after a lifetime of blistering steps, to a large, four-storey building pressed to the rockface. Nothing about it stands out, and Caitlyn would’ve never glanced at it twice, had Vi not stopped in front of it. A few of the windows are boarded up. It doesn’t look residential; perhaps it was a workshop, at one point.

Vi takes them down the side of the building, into an alley that doesn’t look as though it should lead anywhere. It takes some squeezing, but there’s a steep, narrow metal staircase bolted onto side of the building.

“Go ahead,” Vi says. “Don’t want you slipping and falling behind me.”

Caitlyn grips the railing and places her foot on the first step. The staircase groans. The steps are worn thin with rust, in some places.

“How far?” Caitlyn asks, staring up at the daunting zigzag of stairs.

“All the way to the top,” Vi says, and not without a little glee in her voice.

Caitlyn heads up the only way she knows: a step at a time. It’s a blessing it’s so dark, that only a single fluorescent light clings to the side of the building. She doesn’t want to know how far she’s climbed, how far below the ground is, how far above Piltover remains.

“Almost there,” Vi promises for the dozenth time.

Eventually, the staircase evens out to a landing just big enough for the two of them. Vi digs around for her keys and unlocks a door shoved into the slanted roof as an afterthought.

The space within isn’t small. It isn’t large, either. It’s about the size of Caitlyn’s childhood bedroom, though the angle of the ceiling limits the use of much of the space. Vi busies herself stepping out her boots and lighting lamps around the room.

The floors are bare, wood scuffed and scratched, and the back wall is a mural of spray paint, covered in shapes and words Caitlyn can’t quite focus on. There’s not much within: a battered sofa, just big enough for three people, sits in one corner, and a mattress with all the furnishings rests opposite. There’s a hint of a kitchen beneath one of the windows: a large cupboard with a sink atop stands next to a low gas stove, with a dented kettle next to it. The rest of the furniture, two wardrobes and a low table, are all mismatched.

There’s a door in the corner, leading to a small room with plywood walls. The bathroom, Caitlyn assumes.

“Not exactly a mansion,” Vi says.

She’s grinning, but the humour doesn’t spread to her words.

“Here,” Vi say, holding out a hand for Caitlyn’s coat.

She folds it neatly and hangs it on the back of the door. Her eyes skirt around the room as if she’s taking it in for the first time, and it occurs to Caitlyn that she wasn’t invited, that she’s intruding, and Vi’s having to pick up the pieces she’s strewn all over the undercity.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. For turning up unannounced,” Caitlyn says, though the apology is long overdue. “It was just—I had an evening, and I wanted to—you didn’t come, these past two Thursdays, so I worried—”

“Worried so much you didn’t turn up until you had a problem, huh?” Vi says, perching on the arm of her sofa.

Caitlyn winces. She deserves that.

She could’ve come to Zaun at any time. She should’ve.

“I thought you wanted space,” Caitlyn murmurs. “After last time, when… I thought the close-call might have rattled you.”

Vi hums, arms folded over her chest.

“Harder to feel great about this all when there’s a real person involved, not just a concept to be angry at. But hey, I wasn’t staying away. I’ve been busy.”

“Of course you have. I didn’t mean to suggest I was your only obligation, or—I’m sorry, Vi. I’m sorry for drawing you into all of this, and I’m sorry for laying so many expectations at your feet,” Caitlyn says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I felt like everything in my life was entirely beyond my control, beyond coming to Zaun.”

“Cool. A little fieldtrip for you.”

Caitlyn’s stomach is in her chest. What exactly was her plan here? To cry about her wife’s infidelity to the woman she herself has been sleeping with?

“Would you like me to leave?”

Vi stares at her. Her face twitches. After a long moment, she shakes her head to herself, grunts, and holds out a hand.

“Come here. I brought you all this way, didn’t I?” she says.

Caitlyn closes the distance and takes her hand. Vi pulls her to her chest and wraps her arms tight around her, exhaling heavily into her shoulder. Caitlyn clings to the back of her shirt, chest pounding, and lets out a little yelp when Vi lifts her clean off her feet.

She carries her to the sofa, where she sits with Caitlyn in her lap. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Vi reaches down, easing Caitlyn’s shoes off.

Caitlyn blinks. She hadn’t realised she was still wearing them.

“These can’t be comfy,” Vi says, tossing them across the room. “Nice dress, though. You wanna talk about it, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn rests her head on Vi’s chest. She closes her eyes, focusing on the faint sound of Zaun’s nightlife beyond and the beating of Vi’s heart within. Slowly, Caitlyn shares the shameful story with Vi, sobering as she goes.

Amelia, turning over a new leaf, and making efforts to engage with her, to involve her; Amelia lasting all of eight days, until she couldn’t help but make it abundantly clear she was mourning another lost lover; Caitlyn’s parents, and the embarrassment of realising they’d been aware of Amelia’s proclivities for longer that perhaps Caitlyn herself had.

“That’s fucked up,” Vi says, once Caitlyn is exhausted from hearing her own story, same as the last, same as the one before that, too. “You said she was trying, right? You said she was talking to you over dinner, asking your opinion on stuff, paying attention to you outside of those fancy parties?”

“Mm,” Caitlyn agrees.

Vi shuffles enough to tilt Caitlyn’s chin up and meet her gaze.

“Caitlyn. That’s not trying. That’s not treating you properly. That’s not anything. You shouldn’t feel grateful because your wife is talking to you or saying thanks for the dinner you made or looking at you twice when there isn’t a crowd around,” Vi says, stroking her thumb along the line of her jaw. “You deserve more than that.”

Caitlyn can’t hold her gaze. There’s too much honesty in Vi’s eyes, too much in the way of silent, pleading desperation. When Caitlyn looks away, Vi cups her cheek, but doesn’t turn her head.

“Why are you still with her? You Pilties have divorce, right?” Vi asks.

Caitlyn laughs dryly, lips pressed to Vi’s palm.

“And be the first Kiramman to ever engage in such a breaking of bonds? My family would never live it down.”

“Who gives a shit?” Vi asks, anger flaring in her voice. “You’re miserable, Caitlyn. The first time I met you, you were pissed out of your head, wielding a shotgun, and so damn lonely that you invited a burglar down to dinner. Your wife knows exactly what she’s doing. She knows she always has you to go home to as a back-up, knows you can be her pet-project when she’s feeling charitable. You know this won’t end, right? Not while you’re a Kiramman, not while you’re useful to her.”

Caitlyn gets to her feet. Vi lets her go. Caitlyn paces the apartment, feeling the rough floorboards under her bare feet.

“I could—if these arrangements truly are as common as my mother seems to believe, I could talk to her, and…”

“So, what? She gets to spend five years fucking around behind your back, making you miserable, and then you wave your hands and make it all okay? Grow a spine, Kiramman.”

Caitlyn stops her pacing to glare over her shoulder. Vi shrugs, knowing she’s right.

“I could move to another bedroom,” Caitlyn suggests. “I’m hardly lacking in them.”

“And let her kick you out your own room? How often is she even in there?”

Caitlyn throws her hands up, frustration threatening to boil over into tears.

“What do you want me to do, Vi?”

“I want you to start giving a shit about yourself. I want to kick your wife in the teeth,” Vi says.

Caitlyn opens her mouth, then snaps it shut. Her shoulders shake first, and before she knows it, she’s laughing. Vi rolls her eyes but can’t hold back a grin.

When Vi pats her thigh, Caitlyn climbs back into her lap, letting Vi wrap her strong arms around her. Caitlyn doesn’t think Amelia ever held her like this, even when things were new and there was the faintest breath of something real.

“I’m sorry for bringing this all to you. I really am. I know it isn’t fair, and I know I don’t have real problems. Not compared to the rest of the world. Not compared to Zaun,” Caitlyn murmurs into her neck. “But I didn’t know where else to go. There was no one else I wanted to turn to.”

“Look. Your problem’s real, Cupcake. I’ve talked to enough girls down at Babette’s to know how easy it is for anyone to get trapped in this kind of situation by a shitbag with a charming smile. Feels like half of ‘em only want to see me for cheap therapy,” Vi says, laughing a little. “I, uh. I’m glad you came to me. That you wanted to. I know it’s a big deal, coming all the way to Zaun like this.”

Caitlyn could cry. Vi has no idea how much she’s changed her life; she has no idea how gentle she is, how insightful. No one in Caitlyn’s word would dare cast things in such a light. They’d only hum, talk around the point, and supposed it was the way things were always done.

“I understand if you don’t wish to continue this,” Caitlyn says, leaning back to do Vi the decency of looking her in the eye. “It has all become rather real, hasn’t it? And after that near-miss with Amelia, well. I have no wish to subject you to the mess my life has become.”

Vi’s thoughtful for all of a second, before she grabs Caitlyn and flips her onto her back. A grin spreads across her face, and she props herself on her elbows, face inches from Caitlyn’s.

“Because of her? Fuck that,” Vi says, nuzzling her nose to Caitlyn’s. “You’re rich, Cupcake. Topside has hotels. We can hang out there, if we need to.”

Caitlyn’s mouth is dry, her face red. If they’re going to do this, if they’re going to stop tip-toeing around what it is, they might as well do it properly.

Caitlyn kisses her. Vi presses close to move into the kiss, but stops after a few seconds. Her thumb brushes Caitlyn’s lower-lip, and she offers a hesitant smile, eyes darting around.

“Vi?” Caitlyn asks.

“Listen. What you said a few weeks ago messed me up. It made me realise that I’m not just—ugh. No matter what I tried telling myself, I wasn’t making the trip all the way to Piltover again and again just for some free food and good sex. I, uh. I care about you, Caitlyn,” Vi says, chewing on her teeth all the while. “And I don’t want to be someone else to fuck you over. To keep you waiting. I don’t want you having a wife who’s off fucking anything that moves, and then I’m—you know, I’m not always on bouncer-duty at Babette’s. It’s not the same to me, that’s work and, shit, you’re not work, but…”

Caitlyn places both hands on Vi’s face, chest swelling with her admission and her honesty.

“I’ve thought a lot about it. I’ve tried to feel… jealous, resentful, but I honestly couldn’t bring myself to. You were honest with me before anything unfolded between us, and I know you’re sincere when you say it’s just work,” Caitlyn murmurs. “I’m not going to demand you change your entire life to make me comfortable, Vi. I trust you. I trusted you when you broke into my house. It wasn’t all loneliness that made me extend the dinner offer.”

“Cool,” Vi says, nose crinkling. She kisses the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth and says, “’cause it’s a great gig. Keeps food on the table. Besides, you might have princess up there in Piltover, but there are plenty of pillow princesses down here—it’s usually me doing all the work, thinking about what I’m gonna make for dinner all the while.”

Caitlyn laughs, hitting the side of Vi’s arm.

“I would be honoured to distract you from such thoughts,” Caitlyn says, pulling Vi into another kiss.

Vi rests her weight against Caitlyn, lips parting. It’s perfect, until a thudthudthud rattles the stairs outside, and a key turns the lock.

Vi leaps to her feet before Caitlyn’s aware of her mouth breaking away. The door swings open, hitting the wall behind, and a young woman bursts in, all bright eyes and blue braids.

She skids to a stop, eyes meeting Caitlyn’s. Caitlyn does her best to tug her dress back into place.

“Seriously, Vi? Ugh. It’s late. I’m not finding somewhere else to crash. Why didn’t you stick the don’t come knockin’ sign on the door?” the woman sighs.

Arms folded over her chest, Vi says, “Nice try, Pow. Where have you been for the last two days?”

“Hey! Don’t change the subject,” Vi’s sister says, grin spread across her face. “Who the hell is she?”

Chapter Text

Vi speaks of her sister with such genuine warmth and affection that Caitlyn expected the same feelings to radiate from said sister.

Powder’s dishevelled and covered in oil smears, but whatever’s kept her from home for so long has taken less of a toll on her than Caitlyn’s presence. She folds her arms over her chest, not about to be made small in her own home, and takes wide strides towards the sofa.

“This is Caitlyn,” Vi finally says.

“Oh, sure, Caitlyn,” Powder says, leaning on the arm of the sofa. “Caitlyn. Who the hell is Caitlyn?”

“Seriously. Where have you been, Powder? You said you’d start leaving notes.”

Vi grabs the collar of Powder’s shirt, pulling her away from Caitlyn. Caitlyn has no idea what to say, or if she should even attempt an answer; one word from her mouth and Powder will hear all she needs to know about her.

“Calm down, sis. It was two days! You disappear for longer all the time,” Powder says, halting Caitlyn’s interrogation to kick off her shoes.

“I know where I am when I disappear.”

Snorting a laugh, Powder shoves Vi’s side and flops to the floor, sitting with her legs crossed, gripping her shins.

“C’mon, toots, what’s the big deal? Vi got your tongue?” Powder asks. “She usually likes ‘em a lot chattier than this.”

Caitlyn catches Vi’s eye. Vi gives her a slight nod, though Caitlyn doesn’t know what permission she’s chasing.

“Hello, Powder. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Caitlyn says, getting up and offering her hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Powder stares at Caitlyn’s hand with open disgust. Caitlyn drops it back to her side.

“Well, topside, I haven’t heard a word about you. So take from that what you please,” Powder says. “Seriously, Vi? A Piltie? How much extra did you charge for the authentic Zaun experience? Skip the brothel and come straight back here—this place is, what, the size of her bathroom?”

Caitlyn feels the colour drain from her face. Vi rubs a hand against her forehead, sighing, used to her sister’s antics.

“Don’t be a dick, Pow. Caitlyn’s not from work. And if she was, if she was putting food on our table, why would you want to mess that up for me? For us?”

Powder glowers up at Vi, chipping away her tightly-wound layers, letting Caitlyn glimpse Vi in a light she hasn’t before. Vi verges on overbearing, but Caitlyn sees there’s as reason for it. For all the stories Vi’s told about her and Powder’s youth, Caitlyn’s always taken the title of sister at face-value.

It’s only been minutes, but Caitlyn can tell Vi’s had to be so much more than a sister to Powder.

“Sorry I’m not thrilled you didn’t tell me about your topsider girlfriend!” Powder says.

“Look. Caitlyn’s having a hard time at the moment, okay? She’s just looking for somewhere to crash for the night,” Vi says. “And you’re right! She’s a Piltie! So I’m sure she’ll buy us all dinner, and you two can get to know each other.”

The enticement of dinner is washed out by the prospect of spending time with Caitlyn. Vi shoots at look at Caitlyn, gesturing for her to take the lead, and Caitlyn fumbles in search of her bag, wedged between the sofa cushions.

“Of course! I’m rather hungry myself,” Caitlyn says, fishing out a handful of coins and holding them out to Powder. “These ridiculous Piltovan events never have enough in the way of food.”

Caitlyn realises exactly how much money she’s parted with when Powder stares up at her, mouth hanging open. Shaking her head, Powder thinks better of pointing it out and shoves her hand in her pocket.

Grinding her teeth together, Powder says, “Any requests?”

“Whatever you want, Powder. Just give us ten minutes, okay?” Vi says.

Groaning, Powder steps back into her boots and drags herself to the door. Hunger wins out. She all but kicks the door open, grumbling to herself, then shoots Caitlyn one last glare as she talks to her sister.

“No funny business, okay? I’m not sanitising this whole damn place before I have to sleep.”

The door slams shut. Vi rakes her hands through her hair, trying to sigh the stress out of her body, and Caitlyn’s every nerve sings with the absurdity of presuming to show up without an invitation, without being wanted.

The alcohol’s long since left Caitlyn’s system. All the strength in her body has, too. She falls back onto the sofa, doing her utmost to make herself small.

She’s had enough practice, over the years.

“Cait...” Vi begins, tension still rife in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Vi. I had no right to overstep like this. Not only did I come all the way to Zaun to seek you out for my own selfish ends, but I intruded on your place of work. I made myself your problem,” Caitlyn says. “I’ll leave the moment Powder returns. I’d like to say goodbye to her, at least; I don’t want to give her a worse impression of me.”

Vi’s hands drop to her side. Her hair is such a mess that it’s difficult to spot where the undercut is, and Caitlyn knows Vi’s no less overwhelmed than her. More so, if anything; Powder’s her sister, someone she has to share such a small space with.

Vi plants herself in the centre of the sofa, taking one of Caitlyn’s hands between her own.

“Hey, Cupcake. Not sure if you’re aware, but I’ve been known to turn up to plenty of places without an invite. I’ve been known to break in and steal from pretty girls. Plus, I might’ve turned up at your doorstep unexpected, covered in blood and broken glass,” Vi says. “Look. I’m happy you’re here, really. I’m happy you let yourself get the hell out of there, and if I’m the first person you wanted to come to—shit. You just caught me off-guard, okay? And if I’m being honest, maybe I’m a bit embarrassed.”

“Why should you be embarrassed?” Caitlyn says, running her fingertips across the line of Vi’s jaw. “I’m the one who just met your sister for the first time with someone else’s tongue in my mouth.”

Vi snorts, tension eking out of her.

“Bringing you here, it’s—it’s this. Your place isn’t real. Or it wasn’t. It was just somewhere I went, just part of the backdrop of a life that wasn’t mine, completely separate from my reality. But now that you’re here, it’s like I’m suddenly realising that all of Piltover exists when I’m not there. You live your whole life in that place, that’s your world, and this is mine. There’s more than a bridge between us.”

Caitlyn’s thumb brushes across Vi’s cheek, pressing to the small, neat VI tattoo. She won’t tell Vi she’s wrong. She won’t play down the differences between them, won’t disparage her epiphanies. Ignoring the stark contrast between their lives won’t help them blend together.

“That house only feels like a place where I live while you’re there. Beyond that, I simply exist there. You’ll laugh at me, but I truly thought it a modest home. I thought I was defying expectations in having so many of the rooms closed off and unused. But it’s all a waste, isn’t it? It’s so empty. I won’t pretend that you have enough, that you don’t deserve more, but I’m happy to be here. For the first time in longer than I wish to admit, I’ve done what I want to, regardless of what anyone around me thought. And trust me, everyone from my world was there to witness it.

“I’m glad I’m with you. That’s all there is to it. You’ve nothing to be embarrassed of, Vi.”

Vi presses a kiss to her forehead. Her lips linger, hands steady on her shoulders. Caitlyn closes her eyes, giving Vi a moment of privacy.

“You, uh,” Vi eventually mumbles. “You can clean up. If you like. Water’s not always hot, but it’s clean.”

Caitlyn accepts the offer, both to rid herself of the remaining dregs of Piltovan society and to give Vi a minute to gather her thoughts and cool her heels. Caitlyn knows Vi truly means it when she says she’s there for her, but that doesn’t mean her mind isn’t reeling from all that’s happened those last few hours.

The bathroom is a small, square space, no more than four feet across in either direction. There’s a drain directly beneath her feet, and the toilet and sink are bound to get wet when she turns the overhead shower on. Everything is worn and stained, though it’s all kept clean, and a high, paneless window provides ventilation no matter the season.

The tiles are cool beneath Caitlyn’s feet. She hangs her clothes off a hook on the back of the door, knowing they’ll likely get a little splashed, and turns the only valve on the wall. The pipes groan, something clunks overhead, and a cascade of water hits Caitlyn before she has time to flinch.

She yelps a little, hoping Vi doesn’t hear. The water isn’t cold, but it certainly isn’t hot, either. Caitlyn washes quickly, not wanting to allow herself time to sober to her situation too thoroughly, and shudders on the spot once she’s done.

“Cupcake?” Vi asks, rapping a fist against the door. “Forgot to give you a towel.”

Caitlyn opens the door a few inches, checks for Powder, and takes the towel from Vi. Vi grins, not hesitating to let her eyes wander, and Caitlyn can’t help but lean in for a quick, soft kiss. It’s a terrible idea. Vi’s warmer than ever after the onslaught of tepid water, but Caitlyn really doesn’t want Powder to catch her in such a compromising position, post-shower.

“Grabbed these for you, too. They should fit,” Vi says, patting a pile of clothing in her arms.

Saying thank you doesn’t feel like enough. Caitlyn hopes a smile will suffice.

She dries off quickly, towelling her hair dry, and puts on the clothes Vi gave her. It’s a world away from the tight, black dress she tore through Zaun in. The tank-top is one of Vi’s usuals, and the sweat pants more or less reach her ankles. Caitlyn pulls the crimson hoodie on last, zipping it up to her throat.

All the clothing is worn and patched, but Caitlyn never wants to wrap herself in anything else ever again.

“Hey,” Vi says from the sofa when Caitlyn steps out, softly closing the bathroom door behind her. “Look at you.”

Caitlyn descends onto the sofa, legs tucked under her, and Vi hasn’t stopped grinning. She presses against Vi’s side, slipping under the arm held out to her, and closes her eyes. Vi’s chest rises and falls beneath her cheek, and in that moment, Caitlyn wants for nothing. Her thoughts calm, wander, scatter, and it isn’t until the door thunks open that she has any awareness of drifting off.

“You guys better not be doing anything gross,” Powder says, stepping in with her arms full of bags. Caitlyn blinks her eyes open to meet with Powder’s deep scowl. “Ugh. Disgusting.”

Caitlyn sits up, a little disorientated. Vi idly reaches over, brushing her hair into place.

“What did you get, Pow? Smells great,” Vi says, getting up to help Powder with the food.

“Bit of everything, since the Piltie’s paying.”

Vi and Powder take chipped plates from the cupboard and begin serving up spoonfuls from each of the containers, chatting happily amongst themselves, delighted by the feast they’re smushing together. Vi’s right. It smells incredible. Caitlyn wakes up all the way, grinning her thanks as Vi brings a plate over and places it in her lap.

“You okay with that?” Vi asks.

“Thank you, Vi. I’m well versed in eating on the sofa, thanks to your tutelage, so this should be no challenge,” Caitlyn says.

“I don’t wanna know what that means,” Powder mutters.

Vi thwacks her fondly over the back of her head as she brings her own dinner over. She sits in front of the sofa, legs crossed, and Caitlyn doesn’t have time to comment on it before Vi’s nodding Powder onto the other side of the sofa.

Rolling her eyes, Powder shuffles into the far corner of the sofa, plate balanced on the arm. Caitlyn moves a little to the side, though there’s plenty of space between them. Vi catches her eye, offering a look of pure gratitude, and Caitlyn does her best to compose herself.

“This is delicious,” Caitlyn says, after a polite mouthful. “I didn’t realise just how hungry I was until I took a bite. It’s all so rich.”

“Uh huh,” Powder says, mouth full of food. “That’s ‘cause no one in topside has any taste.”

“You’re right about that. Our idea of cuisine is taking tiny bites of tiny portions, closing your eyes, and praying you’ll discern the flavour profile,” Caitlyn says. “Whereas this gives you no choice but to taste all of it at once.”

“Mmhmm,” Powder agrees.

Caitlyn shoots Vi an apologetic look. She tried her best, but Powder’s determined to sulk. As is her right; this is her home, too, and now she’s sharing the already limited space with a stranger.

Vi shovels food into her mouth with her fingers. Powder’s doing the same, and Caitlyn feels oddly touched to have been given a fork.

“So,” Vi says, between slurps. “Wanna tell me where you’ve been?”

“How did you two meet?” Powder asks loudly.

Caitlyn catches Vi’s eye. Vi raises her brow, and Caitlyn lifts her shoulders in defeat.

“I broke into her house,” Vi says through a mouthful of—noodles? Tentacles?

“You broke into a Piltie’s house and brought her here?” Powder snorts. “You’d think that would be a mood killer, but I guess she has a thing for that, huh?”

Reaching into her bowl, Vi grabs a chunk of carrot and pelts it directly at Powder’s forehead.

“Do you want the story or not? Stop being gross.”

Powder clumsily catches the carrot on her tongue, chews with her mouth open, and says, “Yeah, yeah, get on with it.”

“That’s pretty much it. Remember the night the that Councillor had the gala, and all the Pilties were busy staring at blimps? Hell, you were the one who got the tip,” Vi says. “I went up. Figured it’d be an easy night, except someone hadn’t gone to the party, after all. Someone stayed at home and got pissed.”

Caitlyn slurps up a few noodles with the utmost dignity. Powder’s posture loosens as she the allure of scandal draws her into the conversation, and Caitlyn supposes her dignity can stand to suffer for one more night.

“You were busted? What are you, twelve?” Powder asks, grinning. “Vi hasn’t been caught out since she was a kid, sheesh. What happened next? Didja get your enforcer buddies around to your mansion?”

Bringing her glass to her lips, Caitlyn says, “No,” before busying herself drinking.

“It’s worse, Pow. Way Worse. I’m standing there, digging through a pile of jewellery that never leaves the room, and suddenly, the lights are slammed on and there’s a topsider pointing a fucking shotgun at me.”

Powder’s mouth hangs open.

“You? You pulled a gun on Vi?” Powder asks, somewhere between impressed and furious.

Caitlyn’s still gulping down her drink.

“She was wearing an apron! Over a bath robe!” Vi says, glint in her eye.

Glass empty, Caitlyn allows herself a moment to absorb the reality around her: Vi’s sister, slowly thawing, wide-eyed as Vi tells her the story of how they met. Caitlyn’s spent so long keeping Vi a secret that she never considered the possibility of having tales to share about anything that passed between them, beyond the scenario of spitting the truth at Amelia after it had already been discovered.

It feels right. It feels normal.

“Wait, wait, wait. You said she was drunk,” Powder says, narrowing her gaze at Caitlyn.

“Completely hammered,” Vi says.

“I had consumed, perhaps, more wine than I ought to,” Caitlyn says, lifting her chin as she defends herself. “And what was I to do? I was home. I was completely alone. Everyone in the neighbourhood was at the gala, and time was of the essence. I had a gun. I had a way of protecting myself, and I saw no reason not to confront someone intruding on my house.”

“And you picked a shotgun for it? Didn’t have anything with a tighter blast radius?” Powder asks.

“My sidearm was in my bedroom, along with said intruder.”

“Huh. You into guns?”

“I am. I have an extensive collection, of rifles especially. I’m an excellent marksman,” Caitlyn says, finding her footing. “Truth be told, the shotgun is more of a sentimental piece than anything fit for firing. It’s an unwieldy thing, but an heirloom is an heirloom.”

Caitlyn’s finally secured Powder’s attention for reasons beyond interrogation. Powder shuffles a little closer, legs crossed on the sofa, and takes another look at Caitlyn. She looks beyond the stranger, the topsider, the Piltovan elite in her living-slash-everything room, and finds a muddied common ground.

“I’m a pretty good shot, too. Not to brag,” Powder brags. “We’ve got some shooting alleys here, and I always get the highest score. Probably nothing like you have up in Piltover, but I bet we have more shit to shoot and way less rules.”

“Our shooting ranges are somewhat sterile,” Caitlyn hums. “Not that I’ve been to one in—goodness. A long, long time.”

“How comes? Get enough Zaunites sneaking in your window to keep you sharp?” Powder asks.

Caitlyn opens her mouth but finds no answer. She used to go at least once a week; she scheduled her whole week around it. The shooting range had been the only place in Piltover where she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to carry the weight of her suspicions; it was not that she could be herself there, so much as it no longer mattered who that self was.

She glances at her hands, seeing the ghost of a rifle laid between them. When did she last go? Why did she ever stop?

“You two can plan a shooting date later,” Vi grunts, moving the conversation along. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story or what?”

“What’s next? She invite you down for dinner or something?”

Caitlyn almost chokes on her noodles. Vi barks a laugh, and Powder glances between the pair of them, brow furrowed. Vi starts on the (almost) whole sordid truth. Powder furrows her brow when Vi brazenly mentions Caitlyn’s wife, but doesn’t interrupt. The food settles comfortably in Caitlyn’s stomach, and she relaxes on the sofa, eyes closed.

It feels good to hear the truth spoken, even if it’s not directed at the person who needs to hear it.

It might just be the right person, though. Caitlyn can’t blame Powder for being prickly, for wanting to protect her sister. Powder stretches out on the sofa, mollified by food, and slowly, Caitlyn feels like more of a guest than intruder. The conversation moves on to other topics. Powder attempts to explain her latest project and succeeds; it isn’t her fault that Vi and Caitlyn don’t understand a word of what she’s saying.

Caitlyn shares her own stories from the evening’s gala, a hundred years ago, something light and frivolous and absurd, and Powder has a hundred questions about the event and high-society life. Caitlyn’s all too happy to answer. When Vi and Powder start talking about an acquaintance of theirs who’s found theirself in yet more trouble, Caitlyn basks in it all.

She doesn’t want to sleep. Not yet. She doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to wake up in her real life, doesn’t want to stop taking in Vi’s voice, more comforting than the soft rumble of rain against a window. She doesn’t want the evening to end, but the food was so filling and she’s so tired.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to drift off for a few minutes.

A door slamming wakes her up. Caitlyn lets out an unflattering nngh? as she jerks upright, blinking the room into focus. Vi, still sat on the floor, grins up at her and tilts her head towards the bathroom Powder’s just disappeared into.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Not for more than a few moments,” Caitlyn says, batting aimlessly at her hair. “What time is it?”

“Almost four,” Vi says.

“Shit,” Caitlyn says, making a confused attempt to get to her feet.

“Hey, hey,” Vi says, making it to her feet in half the time and easing Caitlyn back onto the sofa. “Got somewhere to be, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn’s mouth twitches into a smile she doesn’t feel. Vi sits by her side, taking both her hands in hers.

“You can stay. It’s no problem,” Vi says, squeezing her hands.

The sincerity in Vi’s eyes, her utter inability to be anything but herself, makes Caitlyn want to sob. Instead, she buries her face in Vi’s shoulder, trying to comprehend how Vi can hold her so tightly, no space between them, and yet be all softness.

“Your sister won’t mind?” Caitlyn mumbles.

“Oh, she definitely minds. She’s making you sleep on the sofa, Cupcake,” Vi says, taking the chance to kiss the top of Caitlyn’s head before Powder returns.

“Wonderful,” Caitlyn says, leaning back. “I’m certainly not the tallest out of the three of us.”

Tapping a finger against Caitlyn’s nose, Vi heads across the apartment in search of bedding. She succeeds in finding what Caitlyn would loosely describe as a blanket, under pressure, and presents it to her as though it’s made of the finest silk Runeterra has to offer. Caitlyn takes it gratefully, knowing its true worth.

“Get comfy. You need your rest, Caitlyn,” Vi says, carrying the dinner things over to the sink. “We’ll talk about this in the morning, alright? Don’t worry about it all right now; just get some sleep.”

Caitlyn’s protests die as Powder saunters out of the bathroom. She crosses the room in wide, lazy steps, eyes still narrowed at Caitlyn in what she’s starting to think might be a friendly manner.

Caitlyn can’t tell Vi that there’s nothing to talk about, that she understands her lot in life and simply had one drink to many, was pushed beyond the usual bounds of her immaculate composure. She can’t tell her that the society she was raised in will smooth out all that’s happened, and they can all return to an equilibrium. She doesn’t tell Vi that this was all her fault, really, she was taken in again and now she’s learnt her lesson, because—

Because Powder’s there. Powder’s there, and Vi’s sister doesn’t need to be exposed to any of the nonsense of her topside life.

Caitlyn pulls the blanket over herself, knees tucked up on the sofa. She doesn’t like that there’s still more space there than when Amelia’s in bed with her. She doesn’t like the way Vi’s looking at her, as though she knows something Caitlyn doesn’t; as though this is all so simple and escapable for her.

“Night, Cupcake,” Powder calls, throwing herself down on the mattress in the corner.

“Hey. Don’t call her that,” Vi says.

Still finding half a smile, Caitlyn says, “Goodnight, Pow-Pow.”

“Hey! Don’t call me that!” Powder shrieks.

Shuffling onto her side, bent knees poking over the edge of the sofa, Caitlyn watches through heavy, bleary eyes as Vi drops down on the mattress next to Powder. There’s plenty of room for them both there, and they settle down to sleep with practised ease, back-to-back.

Vi shuffles, adjusting herself so she can meet Caitlyn’s gaze across the room. With her arms wrapped around a beaten pillow, Vi mouths Goodnight, Caitlyn, across the room, slipping into a smile before giving herself over to sleep.

Chapter Text

The mattress and the sofa were quickly considered off-limits, which is how Vi’s ended up knelt on the floor, forearms holding her up. There’s nothing but a towel that’s seen better days – this not being one of them – beneath Caitlyn, but they could be back in Piltover, in Caitlyn’s endless, feather-filled bed, for all either of them care.

Caitlyn tilts her head back, hair askew on the scuffed wooden floor, hands reaching blindly for Vi’s hips, trying to pull her closer, deeper. Her lips part ever so slightly, red and swollen from having Vi in her mouth not ten minutes ago, and Vi grunts, gripping her ass, finding a better angle.

“Vi—” Caitlyn mumbles, a moan, a warning. “Your—your knees. Careful, you’ll…”

Caitlyn’s gasps trail off into incoherence as Vi presses herself closer, teeth grazing the soft, flushed skin of Caitlyn’s shoulder.

“Don’t give a fuck about my knees,” Vi says, and that’s all Caitlyn needs to hear to wrap her legs around Vi’s hips. “That’s it, baby.”

Fuck, it would be so easy to lose herself in Caitlyn. So easy to bury herself in her, to forget the rest of the world, to make her forget all about her shiny life and her shitty wife. Caitlyn still won’t talk about her, still insists that everything is fine, and Vi knows Caitlyn’s life has been fine for years now.

It would be so easy to take from Caitlyn, to twist her need for some small, sliver of attention, for a modicum of comfort, to her own benefit, to use up what little she has left. It would be so easy, but all she wants to do is give to Caitlyn, to pour herself into her, to fill her up and—okay, not the best metaphor while Vi’s dick is in her, but the sentiment stands.

Vi doesn’t get like this. Not when things are so complicated, but Caitlyn—shit, she’s falling apart around her, back arched, nails digging into her broad back.

Vi wraps both arms around the small of Caitlyn’s back, pressing closer, deeper, needing only a little more, only a little more; feeling Caitlyn’s teeth catch her ear as she whimpers, riding out the orgasm, and Vi jerks her hips a few times more, just a little harder, knees dug into the floorboard, the heat within her unspooling, releasing.

Vi nuzzles her face into Caitlyn’s shoulder, and rests all her weight against her. Caitlyn’s legs unwind from around her, but she keeps Vi close, fingers trailing through the short hair at the nape of her neck. Vi groans, grins, presses a kiss to the corner of Caitlyn’s jaw, and Caitlyn lets out the most beautiful, unabashed sigh.

Planting a hand by Caitlyn’s head, Vi pushes herself up.

She immediately regrets it.

“Shit. My knees,” she grumbles, easing herself back. “We’re not doing that again, Cupcake. I’m gonna be bruised down to my ankles.”

The bliss on Caitlyn’s face is briefly interrupted by the remembrance of the floor beneath her. She pushes herself up on her elbows, hissing under her breath, and Vi offers a hand, helping her up.

“You so rightly pointed out that we couldn’t use the mattress or sofa. What other choice did we have?” Caitlyn asks.

“To not act like teenagers?” Vi suggests, stepping into her boxers.

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Not around you,” Caitlyn says, and Vi’s not sure whether that’s an insult or a compliment, or if it matters. “Goodness. I think we need to burn this towel.”

“This isn’t topside. You can’t burn a perfectly good cum towel,” Vi says.

Caitlyn actually shudders, paling a little as she holds the towel between a finger and thumb. Vi gestures to the basket in the corner, and Caitlyn carefully places it within, gathering her clothing from across the room as she goes. Vi perches on the arm of the sofa, watching her dress in the narrow shafts of late afternoon light making it into the room.

Vi’s no stranger to women in various states of undress, but there’s something about Caitlyn that draws her gaze and demands it stays there. It’s not all sexual, either, even if Caitlyn is six-foot of topside’s finest, and Vi always finds her breathing slows and her head feels that little bit quieter when she sees Caitlyn in these soft, intimate moments.

Eh. She’s sure everyone gets extra-sappy after getting off.

“Do you have to go soon?” Caitlyn asks, brushing her hair back into place with her long fingers.

“Mm. Half hour, maybe.”

Caitlyn nods to herself, mulling over some personal consideration. Vi keeps her eyes fixed on her, watching as Caitlyn searches for something to occupy herself, her hands; looking for a distraction, a way to make herself useful, before it occurs to her to ask for what she actually wants.

“Do you think we might—?” Caitlyn begins, clearing her throat.

Vi doesn’t make her finish the question. She knows when not to tease Caitlyn. Sliding onto the sofa, she tucks herself into the corner and holds out an arm. Caitlyn’s whole face lights up. She hurries over and slots herself against Vi, arms snaking around her waist. Vi kisses the top of her head, eyes fluttering closed as Caitlyn’s whole body melts against her.

“Wish I didn’t have to leave,” Vi murmurs.

It’s not until Caitlyn replies that she realises she spoke the words out loud.

“I wish the same,” Caitlyn says, hand pressed to her chest. “But I understand. You have business of your own to attend to, and your work can’t be put off for me.”

Vi nods, tugging Caitlyn closer, until she’s half in her lap. Those last few days have been a mess, a tempest of emotions on the cusp of boiling over into disaster, but, fuck, it’s been good to have Caitlyn there. She’d never invited Caitlyn home because Caitlyn had so much of her own; endless rooms in her giant house, gold and jewels enough to pay off a hundred debts, and the respect of all those in Piltover; but being there, in the cramped little loft apartment she shares with Powder, Vi realises how much more there is in that one room than in all of the golden city.

She thinks not only about Caitlyn’s house as she knows it, but the house as an empty, dormant creature, occupied by only Caitlyn. Only then does she feel how truly alone Caitlyn is in her home, her marriage, her self.

Shit.

She’d only wanted to make some easy money.

“Caitlyn…” Vi murmurs into her hair.

Caitlyn tenses, fingers twisting into the hem of Vi’s shirt.

“I don’t want to talk about it. About her. Not right now, please,” she says softly.

Vi swallows the lump in her throat, pretending that’s what she was going to say.

“Sure, Cupcake. Whenever you’re ready,” Vi says. “Just lemme know who I need to talk to. I’ll get it all sorted.”

Laughing, Caitlyn gently nudges Vi’s side.

“I don’t need you handling things for me, Vi. That would be all too effective,” Caitlyn says. “I just—I need time. A moment to clear my head, to process this all. That’s all.”

“Sure,” Vi says. She thinks that’s all she’s going to say, but her mouth keeps on working. “You can talk to me about it, alright? Whatever you need. You can talk about her, about what she’s doing—I’m here for you, Cait. Promise.”

Caitlyn tenses in her arms. Vi doesn’t know what she’s doing. This was supposed to be easy; it was supposed to be fun, a ridiculous story to tell after a few drinks, and a guaranteed way to go home with a full stomach and full pockets. Caitlyn’s wife was only supposed to be a vague figure in the background, someone spoken around in conversation, and not the source of the deep, burning contempt in the back of Vi’s throat.

Then again, that all went to hell when Vi dragged herself from Zaun to the heart of Piltover, broken and bloody, listening to her gut, following the instinct that told her Caitlyn’s house was safe, that Caitlyn was safe.

“You—you have to leave soon,” Caitlyn says.

Not wanting to push the matter, Vi says nothing more. She shuffles, pulling Caitlyn on top of her, and runs her fingers through her hair, kissing the top of her head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and it won’t be like this for long. Caitlyn can’t escape her real life forever. Caitlyn will miss the comforts of home, soon enough, and then they’ll be back to scattered Thursday evenings.

“You gonna be okay while I’m out? No idea if Powder’s going to be back before me, or if she’s coming home tonight at all,” Vi says, resigning herself to the fact that she has to get up.

“Of course. I am perfectly capable of keeping myself entertained,” Caitlyn says. “I think, more than anything, I need time to sleep and think.”

“Sure,” Vi says, easing herself from under Caitlyn, and tugging her to her feet after her. “Help yourself to whatever you want from here, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Caitlyn says, grinning, enchanted by the fuss.

Vi’s hands find Caitlyn’s hips and she pulls her closer, still certain she’s crossing some line in touching her so casually, despite all that’s passed between them. Caitlyn fusses with her collar, tugging in into place, and Vi won’t be late if she leans in and steals one last kiss from Caitlyn.

Caitlyn’s cool, soft hands press to her face. Vi rests her forehead against Caitlyn’s, tells herself to snap out of it, and pulls away.

“Catch ya later, Cupcake,” Vi says, unlatching the door and stepping out into the warm, dusky evening.

Caitlyn stands in the doorway, watching her go. Vi doesn’t bother with the stairs. She leaps over the railing, slides down the support to the floor below, then leaps onto a large, empty container that was used as storage, when the building had another purpose. The thick metal clangs loudly beneath her boots, and Vi makes it to the ground with one last jump, bending her knees and running on with the momentum.

Usually, Vi puts this off for as long as she can. Usually, she waits until the last moment and drags her feet all the way there, looking for fight to get into to serve as an excuse for her absence. Tonight’s different. Tonight, Caitlyn’s waiting for her, and Vi can force down her usual self-destructive tendencies and keep her damn mouth shut.

She heads straight to Sevika’s.

Sevika might not be a chembaron, but she’s got plenty of them in her pocket. There isn’t a soul in Zaun who doesn’t know who she is, and if they had any sort of centralised government, she might’ve placed herself squarely within it. She works out of wherever she damn well pleases, but her main haunt is a bar by the name of The Last Drop. Vi knew the previous owner, once upon a time. After her parents were killed during the first battle on the bridge, a giant of a man took her and her sister under his wing; but it wasn’t long after that, during the second, bloodier battle, that he too lost his life in the fight for Zaun’s freedom and birth.

Or so Vi assumes. Her and Powder kept away from the bridge, that time. In Piltover, they think little of that second battle, but all in Zaun know how decisive it truly was, how it laid the foundations for all they now have.

Vi thinks of him. Not often, and not clearly, but memories creep upon her when she least suspects it. She doesn’t think he’d care for what The Last Drop’s become. It seems like the place has shimmer on tap, these days, and the establishment’s constantly changing hands. It has a new owner twice a year, all of them approved by Sevika.

She has no office of her own. She likes to be among the people. There’s a booth in the corner she likes to work out of, and there’s nobody in all of Zaun stupid enough to sit there when it’s vacant.

 “Vi,” Sevika says, voice full of blunt delight. “Didn’t have to drag you kicking and screaming, this time. What’s the occasion?”

“Shut up. I’m not here to chat,” Vi says, sliding onto the bench.

The tip of Sevika’s cigar glows a deep, fleeting amber as she inhales, humming thoughtfully. She blows a cloud of smoke into the space between them, and Vi wonders what she did to earn such a warm reception; usually the smoke ends up burning her eyes.

Reaching into her back pocket, Sevika pulls out an envelope and places it on the table between them. Vi grabs it without breaking eye contact, and is halfway to shoving it in her pocket before Sevika raises a hand, stopping her.

“You not going to read it?” Sevika asks.

“Why? It’s the usual shit. Meet with this person. Remind them what they owe you. Go to this place at this time and transport something to someone,” Vi says. “Whatever. You jump, I say how high.”

Sevika grins. It’s so much easier when Vi goes along with her, when she doesn’t bark back or try to argue, but fuck if she doesn’t want to beat the look off Sevika’s face. She’s tried it, plenty of times. Succeeded once or twice.

It never works out for her, in the long run, and she has Caitlyn to get back to.

“Huh. It’s only taken you, what? Eight years to get your ass into gear,” Sevika says, throwing an arm over the back of the seat.

“I want to—” Vi begins, but snaps her mouth shut.

She’s promised herself that she’d stop asking how much she owed; the number’s never consistent, and Sevika’s forever hiking up the interest and adding to the debt, depending on her mood that particular day. Vi knows people don’t get out of this sort of debt. She knows that the best she can hope for is to appease Sevika, to keep her off her back, even if it means forever running shitty errands for her.

But there are earrings in Caitlyn’s coat pocket. A necklace, too. Vi thinks there might be real diamonds in there, and if she asked Caitlyn, then—

Vi rubs two fingers above her right eye. Caitlyn would give her anything she asked for. Caitlyn would hand it over in a heartbeat, wouldn’t even feel the loss of riches enough to buy Vi back the closest thing to freedom she’ll ever have, but—

But Vi looks at Caitlyn, sees her, and she knows how much has already been taken from her. How much she’s given away. Vi doesn’t want to be another person making demands Caitlyn has no option but to bow to. Vi doesn’t want her thinking for half a second that it’s all been building up to this.

Some part of her still doesn’t understand it.

She could’ve slipped the earrings and necklace into her pocket, could’ve taken them without a word. Caitlyn wouldn’t have said anything. Caitlyn wouldn’t be angry. And that’s the worst of it: Vi’s sick to her stomach with the fact that she’s finally finding it easier to ask for permission than forgiveness.

Still. Caitlyn came all the way to Zaun. Caitlyn came to her when she was at her lowest. Maybe. Just maybe—

“How much? How much to get you to leave me alone forever?” Vi asks.

Sevika laughs.

“More than you’ll ever scrape together,” she says.

“I’m serious. Give me a number. Give me a number and a month,” Vi says, jaw set.

Sevika hums, searching for a number high enough to make the conversation entertaining. It means nothing to her. Sevika hasn’t kept track of her debts, not in a way that’s purely mathematical, because it’s never just been about the money for her.

“Seventy-five thousand,” Sevika says.

Vi tries not to react externally. Her lip slips into a sneer, but she swallows back the bile stuck between her teeth. Seventy-five thousand cogs. More than Vi will ever see in her lifetime. She knows she hasn’t borrowed more than ten, fifteen grand, even with the interest Sevika tweaks by the day, by the hour. She knows this is Sevika’s way of telling her she’ll never get free, never pry herself from beneath her thumb, her boot.

“Well? You were all talk a moment ago,” Sevika says. “I’m being generous. Get me seventy-five thousand in a month, and you’re off the hook. You’ll be a ghost to me. No more favours, no more broken bottles.”

This time, Sevika blows the smoke in her face.

“And if I can’t get it?” Vi asks.

Sevika lets out something that’s either a grunt or a single-syllabled laugh. Either way, it means she knows Vi can’t get her hands on that kind of money, and this is all one, big experiment in building up Vi’s hope, only to send it crashing down further than before.

“Then not much changes, Vi. Life goes on for you, just like this. Except maybe, my people stop turning a blind eye to that sister of yours,” Sevika says, shrugging.

Right.

That’s why the price is so high.

She’s paying for Powder’s freedom with her own. Powder shouldn’t have to suffer because of her; Vi’s the one who fucked up, the one who thought just a little shimmer would help her work longer, harder, just for the as long as it took to get enough money together, to get a real roof over their heads; and Powder, she was only toying with her latest experiment, she didn’t mean for anything to detonate, and it’s not as though anyone was killed.

“Vi,” Sevika says, snapping her fingers. “How about it?”

She should say no. She recognises a trap when she sees one, only she doesn’t know how long she can keep this up. It doesn’t matter how determined she is to protect Powder. One day, Sevika will decide she has a use for her, and all of this will have been for nothing.

“Sure,” Vi says, getting to her feet. “You’ll get your money.”

Sevika definitely laughs, this time. She doesn’t care about the money, Vi knows that, but on occasion, she’s been known to be a woman of her word.

If Vi impresses her, there might be a way out of this after all.

“One month,” Sevika calls as Vi shoulders her way out of the bar.

She walks with her hands shoved deep in her pockets, no destination in mind. Her whole body is tense, far too rigid to fly between rooftops and seek out handholds in brick walls, and all she can do is beat her boots against the hard ground.

Freedom isn’t meant for people like her. She has it better than most, down in Zaun. She’s had a place to consistently call her own for the last three years, her sister is safe from almost everything except herself, and there are half a dozen places that always have odd-jobs for her to do. She has something like a life. She has Powder, and she has—

She has Thursday nights with Caitlyn.

It won’t last forever, it might already be wearing thin, but she has a few hours, once a week, to look forward to.

She stops at the end of an alleyway, glancing at the door of Babette’s. What’s she going to do? Start charging ten grand an hour? Vi shakes her head. Keeps walking. Caitlyn’s in her apartment, waiting for her. She’s probably curled up on the sofa, arms around herself, miserable with the life her society has bestowed upon her, free only in those secretive, stolen hours she has with Vi; treated like she’s less than nothing in Piltover, even though she has so much.

Even though she has seventy-five thousand cogs she wouldn’t miss.

Seventy-five thousand cogs she’d give to Vi without a second thought, if only she asked.

Vi can’t do that.

She can’t use Caitlyn like that.

She can’t be in her debt, too.

Vi pushes the thoughts out of her mind. She gives herself a moment to entertain the thought of tracking Amelia down, as she so often does, and letting the woman know exactly how despicable she is, maybe taking her money while she’s at it, and then shakes the thoughts away.

Caitlyn will have to go home, sooner rather than later. She’ll go back to her shiny home, back to all the gold and jewels that give her nothing, and maybe Amelia will leave on another business trip soon—or maybe those Thursday evenings will become scarcer and scarcer, until those nights slip by without Vi realising she should be in Piltover.

Caitlyn said it herself. She thought things were getting better with Amelia. She thought Amelia was putting in the work, the effort, and she’d wanted that. She’d wanted her. Or she’d wanted things to be easy, to stop hurting; she’d wanted the life she deserves. Vi can’t blame her for that. She can’t blame Caitlyn for wanting someone to see her.

But the things Amelia gave her were less than nothing: she’d looked at her. Thanked her for dinner. Sat in the same room as her. It makes Vi sick to her stomach that Caitlyn thinks that’s all she’s worth, that it’s the best she can get. How long has she been living like that? How long has she been hurting, alone?

Surely Vi isn’t fooling herself into thinking that maybe she could—that Caitlyn might—fuck, anyone could treat Caitlyn better than her wife does.

It doesn’t have to be her.

It just can’t be Amelia.

Vi’s so caught up in the frustration of her utter powerlessness that someone manages to catch her from behind, arms wrapping around her shoulders. She whips around, throwing the assailant against the closest wall, hands bundled in the collar of their shirt, teeth bared—

Powder shrieks, grabs Vi’s face, and pinches her cheeks.

“Sheesh, I thought you were letting me sneak up on you. You were really stuck in that empty head of yours, huh?” Power says, head tilted to the side.

Vi rests her forehead against Powder’s, eyes closing.

“Idiot. You’re lucky I didn’t break anything,” Vi says, loosening her hold on Powder’s shirt.

“You wouldn’t. You couldn’t!” Powder says, sticking her tongue out. “You love me.”

Fuck.

Powder has no idea.

Vi wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her into step with her. There’s grease in her hair, thick streaks of black in blue, and she smells metallic, sharp, and full of surprises.

“Are you going to tell me what you’ve been doing these last few months, Pow?” Vi asks.

“What? Like you told me about the Piltie you were doing?” Powder asks, snorting. “You need to relax, sis. It’s just—you know how I’m always salvaging down at the scrap heaps? It’s that. But on a, uh. Bigger scale. But it’s safe! No less safe than what you’re doing, anyway, sooooo…”

“I don’t know how you put up with me always worrying,” Vi says. “Whatever it is, you know you can always talk to me about it, right? I won’t get mad. Promise.”

Powder rolls her eyes, tugging herself free of Vi’s hold, but not wandering far.

“You say that, and then you spend weeks grinding your teeth together and giving yourself headaches! I’m fine, sis. You’re the one we need to be worrying about,” Powder declares.

“Me?” Vi asks, brow raised, not sure if she should lean towards outrage or amusement.

“Uh huh. C’mon. I’ll buy us lunch at Jericho’s. Lemme treat you for once,” Powder says, grabbing Vi’s wrist and steering her in the right direction. “And I’ll tell you all the ways that six-foot of topside is screwing ya over.”

Chapter Text

They sit shoulder-to-shoulder at Jericho’s. Vi’s biting off more than she can chew purely to force herself to keep silent, to not snap at Powder. Powder keeps trying to initiate conversation, but inevitably ends up distracted by the food spread out before her.

Vi’s furious. Caitlyn isn’t screwing her over; Caitlyn’s the one who’s been fucked over time and time again. Vi doesn’t taste the rich, fatty food as she swallows it down. Powder didn’t want her grinding her teeth together, yet there she is, jaw already aching.

Vi’s pissed. She doesn’t want to hear what Powder has to say.

She doesn’t want it to be true.

“I’m just saying—” Powder starts again.

“Don’t,” Vi warns her.

Powder flicks a miscellaneous chunk of vegetable her way.

“I’ve spent my whole life dealing with your lectures, with your concern, and I’ve never wanted to hear it. Not once. But how many times have you been right?” Powder asks. “You not gonna let me look out for you, too?”

Vi brings her drink to her lips and downs the whole thing before grunting.

Powder takes it as an affirmative.

“Look. I get it. The Piltie’s hot, and—”

“Can you at least use her name?”

“Seriously, sis, you’ve got it bad. Okay, so Caitlyn is hot, she’s got that accent, she’s one of the only gals out there taller than you, and, oh, she’s got shitloads of money,” Powder says. “I bet it’s exciting. Dangerous, too. You’ve been going into Piltover to hook up with her, right? I just wish you could see what’s happening.”

Keeping her eyes fixed on the cleaver Jericho’s using to smash apart a sea-adjacent creature, Vi says, “And what’s happening, Pow?”

“Vi. Seriously. She’s using you. She’s married, and—”

“And her wife treats her like shit.”

“So, what? She gonna leave her wife for you? Is that what she said?” Powder asks. Vi says nothing, and Powder drops her head into her arms. “Shit, sis. She hasn’t even made promises she’s not gonna keep? When did you get so whipped?”

Jericho’s sharp, well-used knife is covered in a translucent green film. Some of it goes flying as he draws his arm back. Caitlyn’s never made her any promises. She hasn’t needed to. She’s let her sleep at her side, has run her fingers through her hair, and Vi’s had the privilege of seeing more of Caitlyn than anyone has in years.

“Look. I don’t want to be a bitch, but these are the facts: you’re exciting. You’re Zaunite, you’re covered in scars and tattoos, and she’s never met anyone like you. She’s pissed at her wife so she’s using you as revenge,” Powder continues. “She’s not just any Piltie, is she? She’s like, top of the food chain. They’ve never cared about us, Vi. We’re disposable to them.”

Vi lets the words settle in the pit of her stomach.

“Another bowl,” Vi calls to Jericho.

He spins around, grabs her bowl, and pulls it onto the chopping board covered in fish (?) guts. Vi feels Powder’s eyes on her but doesn’t look away from Jericho as he works. It’s like poetry, it really is. Vi takes her second bowl, determined to actually taste this one.

“You think I don’t know what I am? You think I don’t know that we’re trencher trash and she’s a fucking Kiramman? Fuck, Pow, I know everyone’s an idiot compared to you, but I know what I’m getting into. I know what this is. We’ve lived off scraps our whole life. This doesn’t need to be any different,” Vi says through mouthfuls of food. “But don’t talk about Caitlyn like that. You don’t know her. She’s not—she’s not pissed at her wife. She isn’t trying to get back at her. Her wife’s a piece of shit. She leaves her alone in their big, empty house, she sleeps with whoever she wants, and she doesn’t have the decency to hide it. And Caitlyn, she’s just—

“Fuck. I only met her a few months ago, but I can see what this has done to her. What it’s taken from her. And her wife, she knows exactly what she’s doing, but she doesn’t care. So maybe Caitlyn’s using me. Whatever. If it helps her realise how messed up her whole life is, if it shows her that she deserves better, more, then I’m okay with that.”

Powder doesn’t answer. Vi finishes her second bowl, and a tentative hand rests on her arm.

“Wow,” Powder whispers. “You actually like her, don’t you?”

Knocking Powder’s hand away, Vi gets to her feet, pulls her jacket back on, and says, “Don’t forget to pay.”

Vi heads straight home. She takes the stairs up two at a time. She convinces herself that Caitlyn will have come to her senses and taken the opportunity to head back to Piltover, leaving a note behind, of course, as high-class manners dictate, but leaving nothing else.

But when she opens the door, Caitlyn’s got her hair pulled back, and her flushed face frames a grin. She’s found their cleaning supplies and kept herself busy scrubbing the floor, and Vi’s never seen so much sunlight filter through the windows. The sink is full of suds, the morning’s towel soaking, and Caitlyn has the sleeves of Vi’s shirt rolled around her elbows.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Caitlyn says, when Vi doesn’t breathe a word. “I wanted to keep myself busy, and to thank you and Powder in some small way for hosting me with no prior warning. Not that there was much for me to do, the upkeep is rather impressive, but—well. As I said. Keeping my hands busy.”

Vi closes the door and kicks off her boots.

She isn’t angry at Powder for wanting to protect her, for assuming the worst of a stranger with so much wealth and privilege, but she’s furious anyone could ever think so little of Caitlyn. Caitlyn’s been hurt so badly that even she doesn’t comprehend the depths of it, and she doesn’t deserve to be spoken of in the same breath as people like her shitty wife.

“It’s great, Cupcake. Looks all shiny and new,” Vi says, stepping towards her. “C’mere for a second, okay?”

Caitlyn puts down the discoloured sponge she’s been using and looks around for something to dry her hands on. Vi doesn’t wait. Doesn’t care. She slips her arms around Caitlyn’s waist, pulling her close, and Caitlyn relaxes into it with a startled little oh. It takes a moment, but eventually Caitlyn’s hands settle on Vi’s back, leaving damp handprints behind.

“Is everything okay, Vi? You were meeting with Sevika, weren’t you?” Caitlyn asks.

“I just need—”

Vi bites the inside of her cheek. She needs to break away from the shackles Sevika has her in. She needs a way out of the hole she was thrown into, waiting years for the shovel to be tossed in after her, until she could finally dig herself deeper.

She needs seventy-five thousand cogs.

She buries her face in Caitlyn’s shoulder. She can’t ask Caitlyn for that. Won’t.

Eventually, she murmurs, “You. I need you.”

Caitlyn’s fingers thread through her hair. Vi doesn’t care about the soap bubbles left behind. Caitlyn murmurs, “I’m right here, darling,” and kisses the shell of her ear. And maybe, maybe this can be real, even if it’s bound to buckle under the weight of reality.

Caitlyn places a hand on Vi’s face, easing her back. She kisses her softly, kisses her as no one ever has, and Vi needs to pull herself together. Caitlyn’s the one who’s come to her for help, for respite; Caitlyn literally stitched her back together, so the least Vi can do is keep her shit together for a few more days.

Vi tugs her to the sofa. Caitlyn curls up beside her, kisses her, and scrunches up her nose.

“What exactly is it that you taste of?” she asks.

“Pow treated me to Jericho’s. Best seafood in the city—pretty sure it’s seafood, anyway.”

Caitlyn gives a little laugh, resting her head against Vi’s chest as she murmurs something about having to give it a try, then. Vi’s body is begging her to relax, but her head is screaming in protest at how normal this all feels. She could write it off, when she was skulking through Piltover and sneaking through windows. It was exciting. There was food and pilfered goods in it for her, the thrill of crossing lines, of getting caught; but this is her apartment, in her world, and even her sister knows Caitlyn is there.

There’s nothing more to this than being together, yet Vi can’t think.

“What are we gonna do, Caitlyn?” Vi asks.

“Do you want me to leave?” Caitlyn says, tensing. “I understand if you do. This is Powder’s home as well, after all, and—”

“No, no. You can stay as long as you need. I’m talking bigger picture here, Cupcake.”

Vi gives Caitlyn a moment to gather her thoughts, to return to the reality she’s trying so hard to escape, if only for a moment.

“My mother knows. About Amelia, that is—she was under the impression that we had an agreement, and while her reaction to the truth was underwhelming on the surface, I believe she’s furious with herself,” Caitlyn begins. “Which changes my perspective on many things. I believed my mother and father ignorant of Amelia’s true character and happy to ignore my apparent distress, but—well. Misunderstandings, I suppose. I’m dreading the thought of seeing my mother again more than if I expected her to scold me.

“But I suppose I do have to go back. It isn’t fair to make them all worry, and I have to put things right.”

“You have to make things right? Caitlyn. She’s the one who’s been treating you like shit for years. She’s been fucking any girl with a pulse,” Vi says.

Caitlyn recoils at the bluntness of Vi’s words. Vi’s afraid she’s going to disappear into herself, but she knows Caitlyn needs to hear the truth out loud.

“Yes. Well. And look at me,” Caitlyn sighs.

“Huh. So I’m any girl with a pulse?”

Caitlyn pries herself free, cupping Vi’s face in her hands. Vi’s gaze darts away.

It’d be so much easier if she could be angry, if she could intentionally misinterpret Caitlyn.

“That isn’t what I meant. Only that I have no right to judge her, given my recent actions,” Caitlyn says. “We have both broken our vows.”

“Fuck, Caitlyn. You know it’s not the same, right? You’ve spent years putting up with her shit, torturing yourself over it. It’s no surprise you gave up pretending your marriage meant what it was supposed to.”

Caitlyn drops her hands to Vi’s shoulders and shakes her head.

“It isn’t so simple as that, Vi. Amelia may have had her indiscretions in the past, but I wasn’t blameless. That is to say, I should’ve been more attentive from the start. Perhaps I should’ve gone with her on her business trips, maybe that’s what she wanted all along. If I hadn’t let her be alone, if I had taken my marriage more seriously, then—”

Vi’s on her feet. She can’t shake the anger out of her hands, so she twists her fingers in her hair as she walks in circles.

“Don’t talk like that. You haven’t done anything wrong. She’s been treating you like less than shit for years, and now she’s made you think it’s your fault. You know what that is, right, Cait? You know about neglect, and—and—” Vi takes a deep breath, not wanting to spit out more of the truth than Caitlyn can bear to hear. “She lied to you. She’s using you for your name, your status, and she’s doing whatever the fuck she wants. She doesn’t know you. She’s made you think that talking to you over dinner is this huge favour you barely deserve, and—fuck! I’m no good at this, but I know what I see. I know what it’s like to be used, to be thrown away, and shit, Cait, she doesn’t even have the decency to do that.

“She’s made you think that it’s impossible to get away, that this is the best it’s gonna get, and—hey, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Silent tears streak Caitlyn’s face. Vi pulls her close, holds her tight, and only then does Caitlyn sob.

“I really—I really did love her,” Caitlyn manages to get out. “And I knew she didn’t—didn’t feel the same, but I thought, if we were married, if I said yes, in time, she’d—she’d learn to, and—”

“I’ve got you, baby,” is all Vi murmurs.

Caitlyn doesn’t need to hear anything else. She needs to be held, she needs to matter, and Vi can give her that.

In time, the crying subsides. Caitlyn lies against her, long legs tangled with Vi’s, quiet but for the occasional, raspy breath. Vi runs her fingers through Caitlyn’s hair, eyes on the ceiling.

“When did you know?” Caitlyn asks, filling the well of silence between them.

“Huh?” Vi asks.

“That you were a girl,” Caitlyn clarifies.

Vi’s eyes dart to the top of Caitlyn’s head, confused by the abrupt departure from the conversation, but aware of the power of a subject change. Sometimes, a distraction is exactly what Powder needs when she gets worked up or overstimulated.

“Oh, uh—I dunno,” Vi mumbles.

“I’m sorry if it’s an intrusive question. You don’t have to answer if you aren’t comfortable,” Caitlyn says.

“Nah, it’s fine. I mean it. I don’t know. I don’t remember not getting to be a girl, y’know,” Vi says, eyes fluttering closed. It’s hard to pick apart her memories from before the bridge, and most of what she has left is a soft, comforting feeling she’ll drown in, if she indulges in it too often. “I guess I’ve always been stubborn, always done what I wanted, and my parents were fine with that. I got meds as early as I could, got on hormones, when I could get hold of ‘em, and just kinda—lived my life? Like this?”

Caitlyn gives a soft little laugh, breath warm on Vi’s neck.

“I like that. I like that you’ve always been yourself,” Caitlyn hums. “Nothing else would suit you.”

“Heh. Glad someone thinks so. How about you, Cupcake?”

“Oh. Nothing dramatic, really. I supposed I never didn’t know, either, though that doesn’t necessarily mean that I knew. I remember being young, rehearsing all manner of speeches, complete with empirical evidence, to give my parents, to bring them around to my way of thinking. When the time came, however, I could only mumble over a few scattered points. I didn’t want my hair cut. I didn’t like my academy uniform. To my mother’s credit, I believe she realised what I was trying to say a long time before I had it out, but allowed me the time to express it myself,” Caitlyn says.

“Yeah? And how’d they react to that?”

“Wonderfully. They were nothing if not prepared. My mother had all my records updated, all the engravings on my trophies replaced, and even had the family portraits corrected. I was offered top-rate medical care, and the whole thing was a dream come true, honestly. My father was so happy to know he had a daughter. My mother admitted to loving the name Caitlyn. It feels so long ago, now. It was, I suppose. But to think, I wasted the first eight years of my life pretending to be something I wasn’t, telling myself over and over that it was fine, that I could never have anything else, but the moment I spoke the truth—well. It didn’t hold such power over me, anymore.”

Vi wonders if Caitlyn hears what she’s saying. She barely dares to breathe, lest she jolt Caitlyn too far into realisation, and simply lies there, letting Caitlyn say what she needs to without demanding anything of her. She pretends that Caitlyn’s talking about one thing and one thing alone, and thinks that it must be nice to have all that available to her.

Hormones are hell to get in Zaun. There are so many people willing to create, to provide, but sometimes, those little side-businesses disappear into thin air. It’s the consistency that’s the issue. Vi’s dropped a month’s worth of money just to build up a solid supply before, but hey, Sevika’s always ready to lend her a handful of cogs.

“I’m happy you—”

The door creaking open cuts her off. Vi doesn’t jump up, this time. She has nothing to hide, not from Powder, nothing to be ashamed of. The pair of them tilt their heads to get a look at the door, and Powder takes a cautious step into the room.

“Uh. Yeah. Sorry to interrupt whatever this is,” Powder begins, more rushed than annoyed. “Vi. You, uh—you got a minute, sis? Won’t take long.”

Powder disappears out the door before Vi can question her. Caitlyn sits up, astute enough to know this is something serious, and Vi swings her legs over the side of the sofa.

“Better see what this is,” Vi says, making her way to the door. “Sisters, huh? Sit tight.”

Caitlyn knits her fingers together, giving Vi the slightest nod.

Outside, Powder is perched on the railings, elbows on her knees. She’s still frowning, still serious, and Vi doubts she would’ve come back home after their conversation if it wasn’t important.

“What’s up, Pow? Thought you’d already said your piece,” Vi says.

Rolling her eyes, Powder says, “Quit being such a baby. You’re collecting Pilties now, right? Saw someone in the Lanes who looked like they were in her circle. Thought you might wanna know about it.”

The metal staircase shudders as Vi takes a step forward.

“Where? What did they look like?” Vi snaps, hands curling into fists at the thought of Amelia coming down here, of waiting years and years to actually look for Caitlyn.

“Whoa. Calm down,” Powder says, holding her hands up. “It was just some guy. Square face. Fancy clothes. He’s wearing a big, shitty cloak to try hiding his get-up, which is kinda a dead giveaway in itself, but the shoes on him! So shiny they nearly blinded me.”

Alright. Back up. It isn’t the worst-case scenario. It’s just Jayce, Jayce who’s always been a brother to Caitlyn, who’s been there for her, who’s kept her company; who’s watched her world become smaller and smaller, her life become something other than her own, and decided weekly dinners would fix everything.

“Take me to him,” Vi decides.

Better she finds him than one of Sevika’s goons. They can smell topsiders a mile off.

Vi follows Powder across the rooftops, a little too full of Jericho’s famous mystery slop to move with as much ease as she’d like. Powder darts ahead, not missing a beat, executing every jump and roll perfectly, landing without losing any of her momentum. Vi still remembers the days when Powder trailed behind, when she had to double-back and grab her hand, stopping her from sliding off the edge of a roof.

Powder lands on a corrugated roof and doesn’t push herself back up. She remains crouched, hands on the rusted metal, and gestures for Vi to join her.

It takes all of three seconds to spot Jayce. He’s doing his best to move in the shadows, which doesn’t work too well at three in the afternoon, and mostly comes across as him hugging the wall. He’s wearing a big, ugly cloak that doesn’t suit the season, and worst of all, he’s got the hood up.

“Ugh. You were right about the shoes,” Vi mutters.

“Was I right about the rest? Does Caitlyn know him?” Powder whispers.

“Yep. That’s her brother.”

Powder winces, all too aware of how older siblings insist on involving themselves at the first sign of trouble.

“I’m gonna go talk to him, okay? Seeing Caitlyn might be good for him,” Vi says. “He’ll want to know she’s safe, anyway.”

Vi doesn’t give any thought to Jayce taking Caitlyn back to Piltover. It’s an inevitability, of course it is, and Vi doesn’t have any power to stop it. What matters now is that Jayce might be able to give Caitlyn another option, somewhere else to stay, rather than going back to the house that’s never been her home.

“Cool. I’ll leave you to it, sis,” Powder says.

Vi catches her wrist before she darts off.

“Thanks, Pow-Pow. Seriously.”

Leaning in for a quick hug, Powder says, “You’re still my sister, even when you’re being stupid over girls.”

Vi knocks her head gently against Powder’s. Powder recoils dramatically, slides down the back of the roof, and leaps away into the city. Jayce is almost out of sight by the time Vi seeks him out again, about to get himself lost in a crowd that will swallow him whole.

Vi hops to the ground. She walks quickly but doesn’t run, and knowing the city, knowing how to shoulder her way through the crowd, she’s soon on Jayce’s heels. She doesn’t reach out to him, not right away. She watches the way he looks around, eyes wide, shoulders hunched, and is almost touched by how much it must take for someone like him to come to Zaun.

She shakes the thought off. Zaun is just a city, a place that’s constantly rebuilding itself, bettering itself; its faults were born of Piltover above, and fifteen years of independence aren’t enough to shake the brutality of industry forced upon them.

But still.

Fuck this guy and his shiny shoes.

Vi’s almost on his heels by the time the crowd thins. He turns into one more street he doesn’t know, and once they’re alone, Vi grabs his arm, twists it behind his back, and forces him into the nearest alleyway.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing—!” Jayce barks out, and Vi gives him credit for not being scared into silence. “Let go. You don’t have any issue with me, and if there’s something you want—”

“Seventy-five grand,” Vi says.

Jayce momentarily stops struggling.

“What?”

“I’m kidding. Calm down, alright? I’m gonna let go of your arm,” Vi says. “If you’re interested in keeping your teeth, don’t do anything stupid.”

Vi’s a woman of her word. She loosens her grasp on his wrist, takes a step back, and leans on the wall behind him. Jayce pulls his arms in front of him, turns slowly, and grips his wrist to his chest.

“So? How you finding Zaun? Everything you expected?” Vi asks.

“Everything I—yes! You just dragged me into alley and pinned me against the wall!”

“No shit. You’re lucky it was only me. Hell, I’ll be surprised if your pockets aren’t all empty,” Vi says.

With his eyes still on Vi’s, Jayce reaches for the back pocket of his pants. The back pocket! Who the hell keeps their wallet in their back pocket?

“See? Gotta be more careful, Jayce. Put in in your shirt pocket, next time,” Vi says, slapping her chest. “And maybe get some boots.”

“How do you—” Jayce asks, catching up with himself mid-sentence. His brow furrows, and his countenance settles somewhere between hope and annoyance. “Vi?”

“Cute. You remembered,” she says.

It’s all she says. She won’t give him any more than that.

“Where is she?” Jayce demands, taking a step towards her.

Vi lifts a leg, placing her foot against Jayce’s shin.

“How many times do I have to tell you to calm down? Look. You’re worried about Caitlyn. It’s sweet. She talks about you, y’know? You’re like a brother to her,” Vi says. “I haven’t kidnapped her, haven’t locked her away in some undercity sewer. She’s with me. She’s safe. But I think maybe – and, ugh, I hate to say this – she might need to talk to you.”

Chapter Text

The sharp, fresh scent of cleaning products keeps Caitlyn grounded. She survived her first stretch alone in Vi and Powder’s apartment, and she’s certain Vi won’t be gone for long. Powder simply needs her for—something. Something she won’t let Caitlyn in on, because she still doesn’t trust her, but something that can’t spell too much of a disaster.

Caitlyn wrings her hands together. She considers getting up and continuing to clean what’s already clean, but surely Vi will be back at any moment. She can sit, patient, waiting. She’s certainly had the practise.

She’s yet to leave the small loft apartment since first arriving. It’s been—nice. Her nerves have been racked with guilt and flushed with adrenaline in equal measures, and it’s only now, days later, that she’s starting to believe there’s space carved out in the world for her to breathe.

Everything seems so simple, there in Zaun. Her life in Piltover is in perfect perspective: hollow, miserable, and certain to stagnate even further. In Zaun, her possibilities are endless. She left Piltover behind, crossed the bridge without a word to anyone on the other side; what couldn’t she do, now she’s crossed the one line she swore she never would?

Vi’s not gone for half an hour, yet Caitlyn narrowly avoids picking at her fingers.

The door inches open. Vi pokes her head in, grinning too widely for the dark, distant look in her eyes. Caitlyn sits straighter. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but she knows it won’t be good.

“Hey, Cupcake,” Vi says, grin slowly slipping into a wince. “I’m not promising I didn’t mess up, but I did something. It’s not too late to take it back, but—”

“Is she there?” comes an all too familiar voice from behind Vi.

Vi slams the door shut. Caitlyn catches a muffled, “I told you let me talk to her first!” from outside, and gradually, the door creaks open, and Vi reappears, verging on sheepish.

“Can Jayce come in?” Vi asks.

  Everything sinks within Caitlyn. It doesn’t matter whether Jayce sees her or not: he knows exactly where she is, and she isn’t the only one who can cross into Zaun. There’s no safety there, nothing that protects her in particular. Her mouth twitches at the corner. Everything’s slipping between her fingers, desperate to return to the way of things.

Caitlyn’s barely conscious of the slight nod she gives.

Vi steps aside. Jayce barrels through the door, knocking it into the wall, and practically pulls Caitlyn off the sofa to inflict an embrace upon her. Caitlyn places a hand on his back, idly patting him, assuring him that everything’s alright, she’s alright.

“Caitlyn!” he finally says, having lost his breath in crushing her. “We’ve all been so worried. No one had any idea where you went! I told your parents that you were staying with me, Amelia, too, because I had a suspicion, but I couldn’t stop worrying you were in some sort of trouble, and I was stopping anyone from searching for you, and—”

“And I’m fine, Jayce. Really. Thank you for coming to check on me,” Caitlyn says, allowing him to squeeze her for a few more seconds. “Vi’s been looking after me.”

Leaning back, hands on Caitlyn’s shoulders, he glances at Vi, immediately turning back when she catches his eye. He stands straighter, fingers digging into Caitlyn’s shoulders a little. Both Vi and Jayce have heard plenty about the other from Caitlyn, but it’s their first time actually meeting.

Vi looks both unimpressed and out of place, side-lined in her own apartment. Jayce is on the cusp of saying something that’ll humiliate the whole of Piltover.

Vi regains herself, and strolls across the apartment to fall on the sofa.

“Make yourself at home,” she says.

“About that,” Jayce says. “Do you really think this was the best idea? Keeping Caitlyn down here, without a word to anyone? Anything could’ve happened to her!”

“Okay, first things first, I’m not keeping her anywhere. She’s a grown woman who needed a place to crash, and I’ve got the comfiest sofa this side of the river,” Vi says. “Secondly, yeah, sure seems like her wife is super beat up about this all. Five days missing, and what? You’re the only one willing to get your hands dirty?”

Jayce’s brow furrows. Caitlyn watches him process the words, versed in arcane runes but not Vi’s brash, honest nature, before finally turning towards her, expecting her to share his indignation.

Caitlyn folds her arms over her chest, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She’s grateful Vi’s brought him here, that she hasn’t left him to make a walking target of himself in the streets of Zaun, but she’s worried that it means this is all over. Vi’s played host, has indulged Caitlyn in her stint of freedom, but now it’s time for them both to return to their real lives.

“Amelia thinks you’re with me,” he assures Caitlyn. “That’s the only reason she isn’t down here.”

“Heh. The only reason. Sure,” Vi says.

Jayce pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m trying to talk to Caitlyn. I don’t know what you think you know about the matter, but—”

“I know you know exactly what Amelia’s like, and you’ve let her treat your sister like absolute dogshit for years.”

Vi keeps her chin raised, eyes on Jayce’s. Whatever he’s about to snap in reply dies in his throat, and Caitlyn’s terrified that Vi’s words have got through to him. She doesn’t know what do now that the truth’s rife in the air between them; now they’re no longer pretending that things are fine the way they are.

Caitlyn can’t linger on the fact that someone could’ve told her how bad things were, all those years ago. She doesn’t have the space to process that, not yet.

After an uncomfortable pause, Jayce returns his attention to Caitlyn and says, “I understand that you’re hurting, but running away isn’t going to make things better. If you want things to change, we can work on that. Everyone thinks you’re staying at mine. Why don’t you come back, then we can figure out our next step from there.”

Caitlyn sees it unfold in the time it takes to blink: she returns to Piltover with Jayce, spends miserable nights and listless days in his guestroom, unsettled in her own skin, in the tender, terrible growing pains of freedom, and everyone in her world gives her time to get over whatever this latest little rebellion is.

Maybe Amelia will come to the door again, knocking until her hands are sore, telling Caitlyn to stop being ridiculous, to talk to her; and then, aware Caitlyn’s insolence knows no bounds and that it’s best to humour her, making promises both of them know she has no intention of keeping.

Caitlyn won’t buckle. Not the first time she comes, at any rate.

She might last a week. Surely her parents will visit, too, for her departure was far from a private matter, and then she’ll remember what her wife knows so well: that she’s a Kiramman and she has her role to play. She made her choice, all those years ago, she said her vows, and she at least has to pretend to honour them.

“Hey. Hey, Caitlyn.” Vi’s voice cuts through her thoughts. Caitlyn blinks the room back into focus and sees Vi’s outstretched hand, offering refuge. “Baby, come here. Whatever comes next is up to you. You know that, right?”

Vi’s hand is warm in hers. She pulls Caitlyn close, holds her tight, not caring that Jayce is there. Her affection, her real regard, doesn’t wax and wane depending on who’s around her and how it might most be of benefit to her.

She doesn’t care what Jayce thinks. His judgement means nothing to her.

Caitlyn wishes she could be so true to herself, but she’s lost that self over the years.

She lets herself curl up at Vi’s side. She places a hand on Vi’s chest, taking a deep breath, and tries to find a way out of this for herself.

“Do you mean that I don’t have to go with Jayce?” Caitlyn asks.

“Hell no, Cupcake. Like I said, you make your own decisions,” Vi says.

“Then you didn’t bring him here so that he could take me home?”

Snorting a laugh, Vi says, “Didn’t want him getting his ass kicked by a bunch of fissure kids. And for whatever reason, you seem to give a shit about Science Boy here, so I figured you’d want him to see you for yourself. Send whatever message you want back to Piltover.”

Tears don’t well in Caitlyn’s eyes. She’s too exhausted for that. She simply closes her eyes, drops her head to Vi’s shoulder, and wishes the persistent, spreading warmth in her chest wasn’t so desperate to be named, now they’re no longer alone.

“Then I can stay?” Caitlyn asks.

“Sure. I mean, Powder’s gonna get pissed off, eventually, but she’s never around lately, anyway.”

Jayce clears his throat, reminding them he’s there.

Jayce loves Caitlyn. She has absolutely no doubt of that, and she knows that he’s there out of sincere concern and regard, not because duty dictates it of him. That’s why it hurts so much that he expects something of her; he expects her to keep her distance from Vi, to be cold and secretive in front of him. He doesn’t understand. He thinks this is all born of discontentment with Amelia, and not because she—

Not because Vi—

He doesn’t understand. He thinks this a passing thing, the brief, physical manifestation of all she’d endured. But even if she’d never known Amelia, even if she’d never been left alone in an empty marital home, Vi would still—

She would still—

Caitlyn buries her face in her hands. She can’t feel this. Shouldn’t. It’s wrong, she’s married, and Vi only wanted a handful of gold to pay off what she owed; she didn’t expect to get trapped the centre of this, a burden greater than all her debts combined.

“It’s my fault,” Caitlyn hears someone murmur with her voice. “It’s my fault. Amelia, she—”

“Cupcake. None of this is your fault, okay?” Vi says softly, hand covering her back.

“No,” Caitlyn protests. “You don’t understand. I ought to have done better. I should’ve been a better wife, should’ve—should’ve gone on those trips with her, then she wouldn’t—she wouldn’t have been so lonely, wouldn’t have had no choice but to—”

She was wrong. She’s never too tired for tears. They flood her palms, leaving her face and neck wet.

The sofa dips on the other side of her, and then Jayce’s hand is on her shoulder, too. Neither Vi nor Jayce snap at one another. That’s how Caitlyn knows she’s said something wrong, how she knows she’s said too much; neither Vi nor Jayce can deny the truth any longer, now Caitlyn’s made it so clear.

They finally understand.

It’s been her fault all along.

She doesn’t dare look up. She doesn’t want to see the shared look of disgust passing between Vi and Jayce.

“What if,” Jayce begins, clearing his throat. “What if you returned to Piltover with me, and – if she’s comfortable with it – Vi came with us?”

Caitlyn’s head snaps up. She looks to Vi, first, as confused as she feels, and then Jayce, who gives her a tight, dry smile.

“Jayce?” she asks.

“I don’t know what else I can do for you right now, Caitlyn. And it seems like Vi’s been doing a better job than me, these last few days – months, maybe – and this way, at least you’re close to home. This way, I’m not lying to everyone for you, and you can see your parents. When you’re ready to,” Jayce says. “Please, Caitlyn. You can’t hide here forever.”

Caitlyn looks to Vi. For the first time since Caitlyn’s known her, Vi’s at a loss for words. She looks as though she wants nothing more than to bolt out the door, and Caitlyn doesn’t blame her. All Vi wanted was from Piltover was a handful of stolen goods and a few hot meals; she didn’t want to get entangled in all of this, didn’t want it to be real.

“Uhh,” Vi eventually says, because Jayce is staring at her, too. She scratches the back of her neck, laughing awkwardly. “Cait, I—”

“You don’t have to,” Caitlyn says, swallowing thickly. “I can manage on my own. I could—perhaps I could give you Jayce’s address? Should you wish to—should you need me for any reason, I…”

“Hey. No.” Vi takes Caitlyn’s hands in her own, squeezing them. “That’s not it, Cupcake. I’ve just got a couple of things to take care of first, okay? I’ve got to let Powder know that I’ll be gone for a while, and I can’t stay topside all the time, but—sure. Why the fuck not, right?”

Caitlyn tries replying. Tears rush into her mouth. Vi starts wiping them away, but Caitlyn cuts her work short and buries her face in Vi’s shoulder. One of Vi’s hands presses to the back of her head, and Caitlyn’s fairly certain Jayce is patting her back in what she assumes is a soothing manner.

“I’ll come with you. Powder will be happy to have the place to her own for a while,” Vi says, and it’s too much, it’s more than Caitlyn deserves, but she’s too selfish to say no. “We’ll get this all sorted, okay? Just you and me. And, uh—this guy too, I guess?”

Caitlyn laughs through her tears. She clings to the back of Vi’s shirt until the sobbing subsides, and Vi rocks her gently all the while. She can return to Piltover if Vi’s there to remind her she deserves something more than what she’s settled for; how can she not, if Vi’s willing to go all that way?

“There we go,” Vi says, easing herself back. “Won’t be long. Promise.”

Caitlyn clings to Vi’s hand, crossing the room with her. She knows Vi needs to talk to her sister alone, and that this is her apartment, but seeing her off at the door feels like the right thing to do. It’s not until the door’s open that Vi begins looking anywhere but Caitlyn, furtive glances skirting between the undercity and the apartment, lips parting wordlessly, hesitance clear.

“Vi?” Caitlyn murmurs, heart clenching.

“No, no. It’s not—” Vi bites back the words and clears her throat.

Relief claims her. Vi hasn’t changed her mind; she simply doesn’t know how to ask for the things she needs, and she can’t disappear from Zaun without leaving a few safety nets in place.

Stepping to the side, Caitlyn reaches into the pocket of her coat. She wraps her hand around the diamond earrings and passes them into Vi’s palm, eyes fixed on Vi’s as she does so.

“Cool,” Vi says, kissing her cheek. “Be back soon.”

Vi closes the door behind her. Caitlyn wraps her arms around herself, not wanting to turn around. That would force her to reflect on all the things that have led her and Jayce to being alone in a Zaunite apartment, all the things that have been so easy not to talk about during their years of weekly dinners.

But the thought of not looking Jayce’s way, of not picking apart his expression and stomaching the disappointment written across it, becomes worse than prospect of enduring it all. She’s always hated not knowing, always picked apart at every little inconsistency until she found herself here.

Jayce sits with his elbows on his knees, looking up at her with nothing but the gentle concern she’s been ignoring for so long.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn says.

“Don’t what?” Jayce asks.

“Don’t say anything. Not now, please. Not yet. I’ll come back with you. I’ll speak with my parents. That has to be enough for now, Jayce.”

Jayce opens his mouth. Snaps it shut. Lifts his hands in defeat.

Less than a minute later, when he runs out of things to scrutinise, he says, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“What did you give her?”

Lifting her chin, Caitlyn says, “A pair of my earrings.”

“A pair of your—why? For her to pawn?” Jayce asks in disbelief. When Caitlyn nods, he’s momentarily speechless. He didn’t expect his suspicions to be so brazenly confirmed. “Caitlyn. I don’t want to make things harder for you, but I don’t want them to be worse for you, either. Don’t you see what she’s doing? Don’t you see what she gets out of this?”

Caitlyn’s lip twitches into a snarl. The weight of the tears she’s shed coil in her chest, but she manages to swallow thickly and stand her ground.

“Don’t talk about Vi like that,” Caitlyn says. “If she wanted me for my money, she could’ve asked months ago and got more than a handful of jewellery. She’s had plenty of opportunities to steal from me and hasn’t once taken any of them.”

“But you have been giving her money? Giving her things to sell?”

“Don’t put it like that. I’ve been helping Vi with her debts, since it’s within my power to negate the things ruining her life,” Caitlyn says.

“I’m not—look. Listen. I’ve spent years not saying the things I should’ve, not wanting to hurt you more, and it’s done more harm than good in the long run. Don’t you think there’s a reason she keeps coming back? You’re giving her money, giving her the run of your house, sleeping with her, and this is all she has to come back to,” Jayce says. “She’s using you, Cait. You’re at your lowest and she’s taking advantage of that.”

Caitlyn wants to defend Vi, but all her proof is in her heart, not her head. She can’t tell Jayce that the way Vi holds her tells her all she needs to know, nor can she explain that she’s trusted Vi from almost the moment she met her, shotgun in hands.

She wants to protect Vi as Vi’s protected her, but she can’t stand to cry again.

Instead, she holds out her arms and says, “Good. Good! Let her use me. Let her take every bit of gold from my house. Let someone get some use out of it. You vastly over estimate how much any of that means to me, Jayce. Vi isn’t using me, but I wouldn’t care if she is. At least she looks at me. At least she sees me.”

“Caitlyn, I only—”

“And if she steals from your house, which I’m sure is your main concern here, I’ll see you compensated for every last cog.”

Jayce takes a cautious step across the room. He places a hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, apologising without ever saying sorry, and tries another angle.

“You’re my main concern, Caitlyn. You always are.”

The door clicks open before Caitlyn can scoff at him.

Vi slips back in and pays no more attention to Jayce than it takes to ignore him.

“I talked to Pow. It’s all sorted,” Vi says. “It’s not like I can’t run back if I need to, and it’ll be nice to have a bed for a while.”

Caitlyn reaches for her hand. Vi knits their fingers together without thinking about it and squeezes.

“Got everything?”

Caitlyn’s still wearing Vi’s clothing. Once they’re at Jayce’s, she can send someone to her house to pick up what she needs. It wouldn’t be the first time. She takes her coat and dress from where they’re hanging on a peg and Vi holds out an arm. She lets go of her hand to grab a backpack, and shoves Caitlyn’s things in there along with a few of her own.

  “Cool. Guess we’re doing this,” Vi says opening the door.

She holds out an arm, and Caitlyn and Jayce squeeze onto the landing outside as Vi locks the door behind her. Vi takes the stairs down two at a time, and though Caitlyn’s sober now, the journey down is no less daunting. The stairs clatter beneath her feet, and in the daylight, she sees the gaps in the metal and the hard ground below.

Vi waits for her at the foot of the stairs. She holds out her hand, and Caitlyn focuses on how warm Vi’s hand is in hers, how safe she feels with that little bit of contact, rather than the end destination.

Jayce puts his hood up. Vi snorts loudly.

“You look like a tool,” she says.

“I’m trying to blend in,” he protests.

“Blend in by letting everyone know you’ve got something worth hiding. Sure,” Vi says. “And those shoes? C’mon. You don’t own a single pair of beaten boots? Don’t you do science for a living? You go in the lab looking like that?”

After eight solid seconds of scowling, Jayce flips his hood back and walks ahead.

Vi rubs her thumb against Caitlyn’s before setting off. It’s harder making her way out of Zaun than it was heading down there in heels, far from sober, but she focuses on Vi’s footsteps, on following her, not their destination.

They reach the bathysphere without incident. It’s almost as though the citizens of Zaun aren’t wild animals, waiting to pounce on anyone they deem weaker than them.

Vi gives Jayce the honour of paying for their tickets. She perches on the back of the seat in the bathysphere, and Caitlyn sits between her legs, head rested against her knee. Jayce paces the small space, only finding it within himself to take a seat when it the carriage jolts to a start.

“So, how’s this gonna work? You got a butler, Jayce?” Vi asks, idly resting her arms over Caitlyn’s shoulders.

Rolling his eyes, Jayce says, “Not everyone in Piltover has a butler. I don’t know anyone with a butler!”

“You do have a housecleaner, though,” Caitlyn hums.

Vi laughs, kissing the back of her head.

“Twice a week! It’s not like I have servants’ quarters in my house,” Jayce protests.

“Alright,” Vi says, wrapping her arms around Caitlyn’s collarbone, tugging her back against her. “Guess you’re bringing us breakfast in bed every morning, then.”

Jayce grits his teeth together, but thankfully does nothing but shake his head and stare out the window. Caitlyn leans back into Vi’s easy embrace, and though she dreads the sight of Piltover rising before them, the reality of returning to a life that’s never felt like hers, Caitlyn almost believes there might be a way out of this for her.

There might be something more for her.

Chapter Text

Cassandra lifts her gun, lines up her target, and shoots.

The bullet hits its mark.

Waiting for her mother to step back, Caitlyn raises her own gun, gets in position, and takes the shot. It flies true. Her mother hums, pleased.

Had she not dedicated her life to the minutiae of Piltover’s politics, Caitlyn has little doubt her mother would be the greatest marksman of their time. She pulls the trigger like it’s an art; Caitlyn hits the same number of targets as her, but there’s something different in the way Cassandra shoots.

It’s like sitting before a piano. Everyone has the same keys to press, but not everyone draws out the same sounds.

They make their rounds of the shooting range. It isn’t the one they visited when Caitlyn was a teenager and Cassandra was doing her utmost to spend time with her, despite all her duties. It isn’t in the heart of the city, isn’t inside, sterile, white. They’ve headed out of Piltover for the day, out into nature, and Cassandra has paid to ensure they’re the only two there.

They stop around midday for lunch. Caitlyn put together the picnic herself, and her mother eats in small, polite bites, letting out the occasional pleased hum. Cassandra talks about her work. Caitlyn enquires after her father and the success of the gala that feels so long ago.

They talk about everything, anything, except for what they’re there to discuss.

Each time Caitlyn’s mother opens her mouth, she’s terrified there’ll be some admonishment, some mention of Amelia, her marriage, her absence, her behaviour at the gala; Caitlyn flinches, but Cassandra only ever speaks of work and reforms, of the renovations they’re considering around the house.

After lunch, they try out different guns. Caitlyn loses herself in the rhythm of steadying her breathing, aiming, taking her shot, reloading, moving on. Her heart pounds. There’s no fear behind it. It feels redundant to say that wielding the gun makes her feel powerful, but it makes her feel like herself in ways only Vi has managed to, of late.

She hits a particularly difficult target, half-obscured by a tree. She grins, looks back without meaning to, and her mother rewards her with a nod of approval.

She’d like to bring Powder here. She’d like to give her the chance to try out the Kirammans’ extensive gun collection. She’d like to visit the shooting ranges down in Zaun, even if she gets the impression that Powder cobbled most of them together herself.

They head back late in the afternoon. Caitlyn’s amazed by how much time has passed.

They sit together in the back of the car, in a silence that isn’t uncomfortable, but is tentatively leading to something. Caitlyn stares out the window, watching as the green expanse around them slowly transitions into the ivory towers of progress.

A few miles from the Kiramman estate, Cassandra says, “I spoke to some of the other Councillors about Amelia’s business ventures.”

“Mother,” Caitlyn says, somewhere between a warning and a plea.

“It’s interesting. I always made an effort to have no official involvement in her various companies, considering the weight of our connection, but it appears that everyone I spoke with assumed we had come to an agreement. It would appear there has been nothing in the way of auditing or tax returns done in over five years, as everyone was under the impression that I had seen to it all.”

Caitlyn presses her forehead to the window. She can do this. She can talk business.

“Oh,” Caitlyn says.

“I organised an independent panel to conduct a thorough investigation. Five years’ worth of finances, paperwork, and whatever else I could think to have scrutinised,” Cassandra continues. “That was several days ago. I’m still waiting for the final report. I assume you aren’t tied to any of the business holdings, and that nothing has been put in your name.”

Years ago, Amelia had expressed a desire to keep their bank accounts separate, stating they both would do well to maintain some independence. They could always transfer one another money, it was all their money, after all, and Amelia had made good on that technicality plenty of times. She’d set up all her companies in her own name, explaining to Caitlyn it was her life’s work; she didn’t want to use the Kiramman name, didn’t want to bury all her hard work under it.

Caitlyn had been proud of her. She thought it was proof that she was more than her name.

Now she wonders what she’s been hiding.

“No, no. She wanted to keep those things separate,” Caitlyn murmurs.

Her mother hums. Caitlyn doesn’t doubt she’s placed a dozen things together with a few words from her, but she doesn’t want the details. She doesn’t want to think about Amelia, doesn’t want to take a single step back into her painfully recent past.

“You’re still staying with Jayce,” her mother states.

Caitlyn hums.

“You’re welcome home any time you wish, Caitlyn. I’m sure you don’t want to be with your parents at a time like this, but the offer stands. Your father is beside himself,” Cassandra says. “We also have plenty of your old things, if there’s anything you’d like to take to Jayce’s.”

Her chest tightens. Her mother is so certain she’ll reject her offer, but the thought of returning to her childhood bedroom, of curling up in the bed that was only ever hers and knowing her parents are just beyond the door, knowing that they know, makes her heart ache for everything to be that easy.

“I’d like to collect some things and see father. I don’t want him worrying,” Caitlyn says.

After returning to Piltover, Vi in tow, she’d given Jayce her key. He’d gone over when Amelia was out – it wasn’t hard to find a time when the house was empty – and packed a few bags for Caitlyn as best he could. Caitlyn has almost everything she needs at Jayce’s, but she graciously accepts the opportunity to return home.

The last of the journey plays out in silence. Cassandra reaches over and takes her hand. Caitlyn screws her eyes shut, so certain she doesn’t deserve this.

Tobias practically runs into the foyer when he hears their voices fill the space. He catches Caitlyn in a hug with greater impact than any of the shots she fired that day, and after heartbeat, Caitlyn wraps her arms tight around him, squeezing.

She’s starting to think she could measure the weight of the last five years of her life by the sheer number of hugs she needs.

“How was your day?” he asks, hands on her shoulders as he leans back. “I would’ve loved to come, but you know how I am with rifles. All the talent is on your mother’s side. I’m still not certain which way around to hold them.”

“It was lovely. I’ve missed it,” Caitlyn says. “I’ve missed shooting. I’d like to get back in the habit of going more often.”

“Good,” Cassandra says, smiling. “You need the practise.”

“Cassandra!” Tobias protests.

“We didn’t spend all that money on childhood lessons only for Caitlyn to lose her aim.”

Caitlyn laughs, shaking her head as she follows her mother into the sitting room.

They take tea together. They discuss nothing more exciting than the weather. Caitlyn’s nerves are frayed, no amount of sleep seems to abate her exhaustion, but she doesn’t remember the last time things felt this easy with her parents.

She wishes there’d never been such a slow spread of distance between them. She wishes she’d had the courage to tell her parents what was happening, that she hadn’t been so determined to save herself from embarrassment, from shame, from the reality of having been discarded so easily. She wishes they hadn’t assumed.

She wishes, she wishes.

Amelia always supported her independence, always encouraged it. She’d spent too long in her parents’ shadow, she always said, and needed to make her own way in the world. She was a married woman now, with a new family and different priorities.

Caitlyn had taken it as a compliment, as the first tentative steps towards freedom. She’d taken that independence all the way to her marital home, to the weeks and months spent alone, building walls around herself.

Letting walls be built around her.

No—

Watching walls be built around her.

After tea, Cassandra recalls she has paperwork to attend to. Caitlyn heads upstairs, to her old room, and stands in the doorway, wondering what Vi would make of it all. She was wrong about her assessment of Vi’s apartment: it could easily fit in her bedroom, en-suit notwithstanding.

The right sort of walls could be built here. The space could be divided up, could be made into something more, could be a home, no matter how small.

Caitlyn shakes her head. She isn’t making any sense. She’s there to see what things she could take to Jayce’s, to her makeshift, intermediatory home.

She opens the closet, finding her favourite bedsheets. She places those on her bed, immaculately made, and pulls out pieces of clothing she hasn’t seen since before she was married.

They’re much better than anything else she has to wear.

She gets distracted reading through a childhood journal she finds hidden in the back of the closet. She perches on the edge of her bed, smiling at the faded ink; how trivial all her teenage problems seem, how quickly they went forgotten, though they’d consumed her every waking thought at the time.

Maybe she’ll be able to look back on this with the same distance and ease, one day.

Caitlyn’s in the midst of reading a flowery paragraph about one of the first girls she kissed when her father knocks at the open door. Caitlyn closes the journal without starting, without feeling that childhood urge to hide it under her pillow.

“Hello, darling,” her father says, coming to sit by her side.

Caitlyn rests her head on his shoulder.

“This is all a terrible mess, isn’t it? I wish we’d spoken up sooner. I wish we hadn’t assumed, that we hadn’t let things go on for this long,” her father says, sighing. “But we’ll get you through this, darling. I’m here now. I’m always here, if you want to talk.”

Caitlyn screws her eyes shut. She can’t stand the guilt in her father’s voice, can’t stand the sympathy he puts forth for her, thinking her nothing but a victim in this.

He has no idea. Her mother has no idea.

They wouldn’t be welcoming her home if they knew.

Caitlyn only means to say thank you. She only means to reassure him that it’s fine, and that no one could’ve done anything to help her, not when she was so blind to the true extent of her situation.

What comes out is, “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Tobias tenses. Caitlyn holds her breath, desperately praying she didn’t really say that out loud.

“I see,” Tobias says.

Caitlyn lifts her head from his shoulder. She sits straight, hands curled into fists in her lap.

“Is this…” Tobias tries, clearing his throat. “Forgive the question. Is this—retaliation? A way to wrest back control?”

Caitlyn shakes her head.

The control that’s returned to her is incidental.

“If it’s retaliation, it’s years overdue,” Caitlyn murmurs.

“Years?”

Caitlyn dares to look his way and immediately regrets it. His eyes shine in a way that forces a lump into her throat.

“Years. I think this first came to light, oh—four years ago? That was when Amelia first admitted to it, at any rate, but I’d had my suspicions long before. She called me paranoid.”

Tobias’ silence at the passage of time is heavier than the one that proceeded her admission of infidelity. There’s a drop of comfort in that.

“Four years,” he eventually echoes. “I wasn’t aware. I was under the impression that you’d only learnt of this within the past few weeks.”

Caitlyn shakes her head. A stray tear runs down her cheek, but she bats it away before her father can see.

“Pathetic, isn’t it? I’ve known all this time, and I’ve let her placate me, let her promise that it won’t happen again, that it’ll be different, this time,” Caitlyn says. “I didn’t—I didn’t want to let the family down. I didn’t want to sully the Kiramman name. I didn’t want anyone to know I’d made a bad choice, that I was disposable, that I’d let it happen over and over again, that I—I—”

There are too many tears for her to wipe away. She mumbles the last of her point into her father’s shoulder, and he holds her tight, rocking her. Caitlyn sobs like she hasn’t since she was a child, heaving out the last four years of her life.

“Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Caitlyn mumbles, leaning back to take a deep breath.

Tobias produces a handkerchief from his breast pocket and Caitlyn dabs her face with it.

“Not at all, darling. Better out than in,” he says, kindness persevering though he knows the truth. “Would you, ah. Would you like to tell me about this woman you’ve been seeing?”

Sniffing loudly, Caitlyn shakes her head. She can’t make this more complicated. She can’t drag Vi deeper into this.

She blows her nose.

The words won’t stop tumbling out of her.

“It’s only been a matter of months. Her name is Vi,” Caitlyn says. “Nothing was supposed to happen between us. I only wanted company, only wanted a friend, but she—she’s the reason I’ve got to this point. It’s only because of her that I’ve been able to take this step, to admit what’s wrong. She made me realise how much I was settling for, how much was being taken from me.

“I know it’s an affair. I know what it is, but she sees me. She’s taken care of me, all this time, even with all her own troubles. I feel like myself again.”

Tobias says nothing. He takes Caitlyn’s hand, squeezing it, and Caitlyn hates how pathetic she sounds. Crying over her wife’s affairs, then exulting her own.

“It sounds like you care a lot about this woman,” her father says, in time.

And because one more truth won’t break her, Caitlyn says, “I think I love her. But I thought I loved Amelia, too, and look how that turned out for me. How can I trust myself?”

Tobias pulls her into another hug.

“There’s no shame in giving your love to the wrong people, Caitlyn. It only means you have a big heart,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “Amelia’s the one who ought to feel ashamed for disregarding all you gave her. And this woman, this Vi. Perhaps we could meet her, once things have calmed down a little, hm?”

Caitlyn laughs through the tears. It’s the last thing in the world she could imagine, but now the idea’s planted itself in her mind, she won’t be able to stop the thoughts blossoming.

Her mother hugs her as she leaves. It won’t be long until she knows the whole sordid truth, too.

Caitlyn lets herself into Jayce’s house. Using the spare key has become second nature, those last weeks. It’s quiet within. She carries her bags down the corridor, poking her head into the living room, but a rumble of laughter draws her to the kitchen.

The back door’s open, letting in fresh air from the garden Jayce has never spent more than five consecutive minutes in. Vi sits on the table, eating a bowl of cereal, while Viktor sits at the table properly, nursing a cup of tea. Jayce stands in the corner, leant against the counter, rolling his eyes at whatever story Vi is telling.

“—so then her foot gets stuck and the whole roof comes down, and—Cait!” Vi says through a mouthful of cereal. She drops the bowl on the table with a clatter of ceramic, milk going everywhere as she gets to her feet. “I thought you were going shooting. What’s with all the boxes?”

Vi approaches them warily, squinting.

“Don’t worry. We don’t have any bodies to bury,” Caitlyn says, letting Vi take the boxes from her. “Just a few things I picked up from my parents’ house. Bedsheets, clothing, the like.”

“Cool,” Vi says over her shoulder. “I’ll stick ‘em in the bedroom.”

Over the last few weeks, Vi has spent the night more often than not. Some mornings, Caitlyn’s woken up with Vi by her side, though Vi wasn’t there when she went to bed. Vi comes and goes, hardly the prisoner Caitlyn feared she’d make of her, tending to her own obligations in Zaun and treating Caitlyn like a refuge to return to.

“All good?” Jayce asks, putting together a drink for Caitlyn.

“My mother’s aim is as deadly as always,” Caitlyn says, taking a seat at the table. Turning to Viktor, she says, “It’s nice to see you. Jayce doesn’t have you over nearly enough.”

“It isn’t my fault he locks himself in the lab!” Jayce protests. “He sleeps even less than I do!”

Ignoring Jayce, Viktor says, “It’s good to see you too, Caitlyn,” in a way that tells her he knows every last detail about her situation, albeit likely not by his own choice.

She supposes Jayce needs someone to talk to about all of this.

“We can unpack those later,” Vi says, heading back into the kitchen. She ducks down, kissing Caitlyn in greeting, and Caitlyn ignores the look Jayce gives them. “You know this guy? Viktor? Turns out his from my side of the bridge. How many Pilties know he’s three-quarters of the brains behind Hextech, huh?”

Jayce mouths three-quarters? as Viktor suppresses a smile and says, “I prefer to let my work speak for itself. I would much rather be in the lab than the spotlight.”

“That attitude is why you don’t have your face on any mugs, buddy,” Vi says, digging back into her cereal.

“Ah. A true tragedy, to not be appreciated in one’s time,” Viktor says, raising his mug in a mock toast.

Wanting to keep useful, Caitlyn sets about preparing dinner. Viktor promises to stay. Caitlyn knows Jayce will want to talk to her later, will want to discuss things they’ve been over a hundred times, and she knows Vi can tell she’s been crying, but right now, she doesn’t need to think about any of that.

She wants to enjoy the warmth of the evening, the gentle breeze coming in through the open door, the playful chatter between Vi and Viktor, the jokes that come at Jayce’s expense. She loses herself in preparing dinner. Vi knows not to interrupt her, knows how therapeutic cooking is for her, and every time she glances over, Vi is watching her with a soft, far-off smile.

Jayce fusses over her, asking what he can do to help, trying to pre-empt her next move by getting the wrong things out of the cupboards. Caitlyn laughs, for Jayce can’t make anything more complicated than toast, but endures the unwanted assistance, knowing it’s his way of showing he cares.

Jayce, despite some of his curt, unkind opinions and the wary eye he keeps on Vi, has been supportive throughout this all. He’s given Caitlyn a place to stay where she isn’t alone, and he’s made sure that Vi is there with her. Caitlyn can’t be too upset at him for how he views Vi; on paper, none of it adds up to anything good.

Caitlyn knows how it looks. Her alone, vulnerable, taken in by a burglar, by someone with debts to pay and next to nothing to lose. Jayce doesn’t see what Caitlyn does. He isn’t privy to the way Vi wraps her arms around her at night, has no idea how caring and blunt Vi can be, ever demanding that Caitlyn start putting herself first, that she start caring about herself as a person, not just her reputation.

Vi doesn’t help her own case. She’s not winning any favours from Jayce by eating all his favourite cereal.

When Viktor is done with his tea, Jayce takes him to the study, to show off whatever promises lured Viktor from the Academy labs. Vi hops to her feet, washes her bowl at the sink, and presses to Caitlyn’s back. Her arms wrap around her waist, but Caitlyn grabs Vi’s wrists before she can squeeze her too tightly.

“Wash your hands first, please,” Caitlyn says.

“I did,” Vi says, pout in her voice.

“You have soap suds on your hands. Dry them, Vi.”

Caitlyn’s already smiling to herself as Vi huffs, searching out a tea towel, and she leans back into the embrace when Vi returns. Vi’s arms wrap tight around her, and she presses a kiss to the corner of her jaw as Caitlyn stirs the slowly simmering dinner.

“How’d it go today, Cupcake?” Vi asks softly.

“The bad news is that my mother appears to be on the warpath. The good news is that my mother appears to be on the warpath,” Caitlyn says. Vi laughs, giving her a little squeeze. “She’s having an independent company look into Amelia’s business matters. Apparently, she’s been using the Kiramman name to fly under the radar these past five years.”

“Oh, shit. You think she’s been up to no good?”

“I honestly have no idea. I don’t know the first thing about her,” Caitlyn says, taking the pan off the heat. She places it to the side and Vi keeps hold of her all the while, shuffling behind her. “If she has, I expect it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Exploiting loopholes. Avoiding taxation. Enough to embarrass her, to call her whole reputation into question, to make others in her position doing the same question their choices.”

“Wow. Even her crimes are boring as fuck,” Vi says. “That’s cool of your mom, though. What does that mean for everything? For you?”

Caitlyn’s been avoiding thinking too hard about it, but knows Vi won’t let her push it to the back of her mind.

“It’s a smart move. If Amelia is disgraced through her own actions, parting ways with her would seem like the only respectable move. I’d be looked up to, rather than be the subject of scorn and disgrace.”

“Damn. Your mom is ten moves ahead, huh. Smart lady. But even if this investigation doesn’t go anyway, even if she comes out clean, you know you can still get a—”

“I told them about you,” Caitlyn blurts out.

Vi’s arms slacken around her waist. That gets her to change the subject, to utter anything but the one thing she needs, but can’t let herself think about.

“Seriously?” Vi asks.

She lets go of Caitlyn and slumps against the counter by her side. Caitlyn gestures for her to move so she can reach across for a spatula.

“Well. I told my father, which means my mother is bound to know by now. It wasn’t my intention, Vi. I apologise if I’ve put you in an uncomfortable situation—” Vi snorts a laugh, but Caitlyn powers on. “—but my father was being so kind, so gentle, and I needed him to tell the truth.”

“Sure,” Vi says. There’s a nervous edge to her words, one Caitlyn’s only just learning to pick apart. “What did he say?”

“That once things calm down, he’d like to meet you.”

Vi stares at her, too incredulous to laugh.

“I’m guessing you didn’t mention the whole sex-worker-trencher-trash-burgular-Zaunite part, huh?”

Putting her utensils down and turning from the stove, Caitlyn doesn’t realise exactly how severe her expression is until Vi flinches, self-deprecating humour fading from her eyes.

Closing the distance between them, Caitlyn hooks two fingers around Vi’s collar and ensures she’s looking her in the eyes.

“No. I did, however, tell him how much you mean to me, how unfalteringly kind you’ve been, and how much you’ve done for me,” Caitlyn says.

Vi purses her lips together. Her gaze darts off to the side, and even with Caitlyn so close, her hands end up shoved in her pockets.

Caitlyn tugs her that last big closer, presses a kiss to her lips, and says, “Now. Get four plates out of that cupboard over there.”

Vi lingers, even after Caitlyn turns back to the stove. Caitlyn hears her let out a soft laugh, followed by the sound of cupboards opening, plates gently resting against the counter.

“Cait, do you want—hey. What the fuck? You never heard of front doors?”

Caitlyn knows, logically, that it only takes her a split second to spin around, but the whole of her world is condensed into that nothingness of time. Her fingers dig into the counter as Vi’s voice grows serious, and she tells herself it can’t be what she fears, she can’t be here, but denial doesn’t sink into her chest. Her heart pounds around it, obliterating it.

Amelia stands at the back door, arms folded over her chest, eyes fixed on Vi.

“Seriously, lady,” Vi says, taking a step towards her, plate in hand. “You can’t be here.”

“I’m here to speak to my wife,” Amelia says, scoffing. “Who do you think you are?”

Chapter Text

Again, time slows to remind Caitlyn how utterly powerless she is. Vi stares at Amelia, Amelia stares at Vi, and Caitlyn isn’t certain that Amelia’s actually seen her.

She scrambles for an excuse, a justification, a damn greeting, but her throat is dry.

Luckily, Vi’s spent her whole life thinking fast on her feet.

“I’m Talis’ bodyguard. Lot of shit going missing from the lab lately,” Vi says, taking a step towards Amelia. “I’ll give you a five second warning, lady, before I start doing my job.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This has nothing to do with Jayce—”

“—last time I checked, this was Talis’ house.”

“I’m here to speak with my wife. Move. Now.”

Without Amelia seeming to realise it, Vi’s placed herself between her and Caitlyn, giving her only one direction to go. Amelia has her arms folded over her chest, subconsciously defensive, and Vi stares down at her, not relenting.

Glancing over her shoulder, Vi says, “That true, ma’am? Do you know this woman?”

Not knowing how to play her part, Caitlyn nods.

“There. See? Now move, before I have you fired. Jayce is an old friend of mine and he won’t appreciate me being harassed like this,” Amelia says.

Caitlyn doesn’t know how Vi refrains from bursting into laughter.

Caitlyn doesn’t know how she doesn’t burst into tears.

“It’s up to you, Mrs Kiramman. Do you want to speak with her?” Vi asks.

Caitlyn doesn’t want to talk to Amelia. She doesn’t want to ever see her again. She doesn’t want her to be real; she wants to be running from an invisible, intangible force, not someone who can march into the kitchen and say her piece, justifying all her past transgressions and carefully not promising to make any more.

But Caitlyn can’t dismiss her. She’s found a semblance of safety at Jayce’s with Vi by her side, and she won’t spend her days fretting over what Amelia wanted to say, counting down each agonising second until she intrudes on her peace again.

“I—” Caitlyn starts.

“Caitlyn? What’s going on?” Jayce asks from the doorway. “Amelia? You can’t be here.”

“Jayce, please. Call off your attack dog,” Amelia says, gesturing to Vi. “I didn’t realise things were dire enough at your lab that you needed a bodyguard. You ought to have come to me. I’ve used several reputable companies in the past.”

“My… bodyguard?” Jayce says.

From his side, Viktor clears his throat and says, “She’s personal security, technically. The agency worried bodyguard might make him sound weak. Only the best for the Man of Progress.”

“Right. My bodyguard,” Jayce says, shaking his head. “Amelia, you can’t be here. You know that.”

“So you’ve told me, but Caitlyn can’t hide behind you forever. She needs to discuss whatever this all is at some point, and I have pressing matters to attend to. I ought to be in Demacia for the next two months, but here I am, trying to salvage the situation,” Amelia says, throwing her hands in the air.

“Listen, lady. You need to realise when you’re not wanted,” Vi says.

“If Caitlyn wants to talk to you, she knows where you are,” Jayce adds.

They’re only trying to protect Caitlyn. She knows that. She needs that. Her heart is in her throat, her palms are clammy, and hearing Amelia’s voice makes this all real. She’s left. Not her, perhaps, but she’s left her home behind. She’s spent her nights with Vi, has resigned herself to a tentative sort of domestic bliss in her best friend’s house, ignoring the world outside those four walls.

But she can’t let herself remain in limbo. She’s spent the last five years lingering in an in-between state of nothingness, and she can’t screw her eyes shut and clamp her hands over her ears forever.

It’ll hurt to accept just how badly she’s been hurt, but she can’t hold it back any longer.

“It’s fine, Jayce. It’s fine. I’ll speak with Amelia,” Caitlyn says, voice louder than she intended.

Everyone turns to her.

“Are you sure, Cait?” Jayce asks softly.

Caitlyn nods, holding Amelia’s gaze.

“Jayce,” Viktor says, breaking the silence. “I believe it is time I left. My car should be outside—will you walk with me?”

Jayce’s lips part wordlessly. Caitlyn knows he wants to protest, that he wants to protect her, but perhaps he’s finally realising that it’s too late for that. He nods shallowly, turns on his heels, and accompanies Viktor to the front of the house.

“You may leave as well,” Amelia says, glowering at Vi.

Vi glances at Caitlyn, instantly understanding her wordless, aching plea. She crosses the kitchen, but only goes so far as to sit on the counter.

“Nope. I’m good here,” Vi says.

“Aren’t you supposed to be protecting Jayce?”

“Eh. It’s a friends-and-family special. Kind of in charge of the whole household,” Vi says, waving a hand around the room.

Sighing, but not about to waste any time on someone she deems as inconsequential as Vi, Amelia pulls out a chair and sits at the table. She remains there, back straight, fingers knitted in front of her, until Caitlyn acquiesces and mirrors her pose.

“What do you want, Amelia?” Caitlyn asks, already exhausted.

“Caitlyn, dear. Please don’t be like that,” Amelia says, voice low but not soft. “I’ve tried to visit you. I honestly have, but Jayce turned me around every time. He said you needed space, and I know how sensitive you can be, Caitlyn. I wanted to give you that. I wanted to give you all the time you need.”

“Then why are you here now?” Caitlyn asks through grit teeth.

“Caitlyn, please. Is it so hard to believe that I missed you? That I wanted to apologise,” Amelia says, reaching a hand across the table. Caitlyn stares at it and places her hands in her lap. “The night of your parents’ gala was—I haven’t stopped thinking about it, Caitlyn. We were having such a wonderful time, and I acted atrociously. I allowed myself to become distracted by the past. I wasn’t at my best. I didn’t feel like myself. But you’d had so much to drink, you’d disappeared to speak with Jayce, and I found myself alone, overwhelmed, and one thought led to the next.”

Amelia takes a deep breath, chest rising, and blinks half a dozen times, as though tears have gathered in her eyes.

“Lady,” Vi says from across the room. “This is the worst apology I’ve ever heard, and my sister once said I guess that’s my bad or whatever after blowing up a three-storey building.”

Propping an arm on the back of her chair, Amelia says, “You’ll have to explain to me how any of this concerns you, once I’m done speaking with my wife.”

Their back and forth gives Caitlyn time to gather her thoughts. Had Vi not been there, she would’ve ignored Amelia’s implications and pushed the conversation on to the point where she could dissolve into tears, while Amelia snapped that she’d done her best to apologise, really, but why did it always have to end like this?

Pressing two fingers to her temples, Caitlyn says, “Let me make sure I’m understanding you correctly. The reason you were exchanging sad glances with your girlfriend at my parents’ gala was because I had imbibed too much alcohol and chosen to speak with my friend. Am I understanding you correctly?”

“Caitlyn, dear. Please. You’re twisting my words.”

“Sounds pretty accurate to me,” Vi says.

Amelia pinches the bridge of her nose, ignoring her.

“Things were going so well before that moment, and that’s all it was. One moment of weakness. Are we really going to let that ruin things? What it all comes down to, Caitlyn, is that I was looking at someone across a room. Would you have reacted as strongly as you did, had you not been intoxicated?” Amelia asks. “Caitlyn, please. It isn’t right, you being here. People will talk.”

Even with Vi there, Caitlyn feels her resolve weaken. She tilts her head back, eyes on the ceiling, forcing the tears back. Amelia’s right. All she did was look at someone, all she did was express more honesty that Caitlyn’s used to; but it isn’t about what happened at the gala.

It’s about all that came before. It’s about the nights she’s spent alone, even with someone else in her bed, it’s about the way she’s been so starved of attention that an off-hand compliment or her own wife tolerating her presence feels like a gift she doesn’t deserve.

Caitlyn understands that now. Vi’s words echo in her head. Her own thoughts break through, joining the chorus.

“Let them talk. Let them say whatever they wish,” Caitlyn says. “Go back to Oliviana Farrow or any of your other women. Be with them. They seem to keep you entertained. I don’t know how to make it any clearer, Amelia. I’ve left.”

“Caitlyn. Please,” Amelia tries through grit teeth. “We’ve been here before. We both know you aren’t happy like this. Things are only going to improve if you talk to me.”

Caitlyn’s lip twitches. She doesn’t remember ever coming so close to snarling in her life. She looks over Amelia’s shoulder, meeting Vi’s gaze. Vi gives the slightest nod, but the faith she has in her is so much more than anything anyone else has ever granted her.

“I’ve said my piece, Amelia. I’m done with all of this,” Caitlyn says. “We don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Amelia sighs. She buries her face in her hands, breathes deeply, and doesn’t cry. After a long minute spent mumbling under her breath, Amelia surfaces, eyes clear.

“Fine. I see you’re in no mood to listen to me. I’ve been patient before, and I can be patient again,” Amelia says, shaking her head. “There was one more thing I wanted to discuss with you. A small business matter. I trust your head is clear enough for another five minutes of discussion?”

Caitlyn tilts her head to the side. Everything falls into place.

Now they’re getting to the heart of the matter.

“What is it?” Caitlyn asks, curious, acting as though she didn’t speak with her mother that morning.

“Oh, nothing serious. Just a small matter of some unexpected audits and investigations. It happens to all the big companies every now and again, especially those of us trading internationally,” Amelia says, waving a hand.

For the first time since she arrived, Caitlyn sincerely doesn’t want Amelia to leave. She wants to know exactly how she’s going to try spinning this.

“I’ve nothing to do with your work, Amelia. What does this have to do with me?” Caitlyn asks.

Again, Amelia waves a dismissive hand.

“I need to get the accounts in order. They would be, naturally, had I any prior warning, but I’ve been caught in a transitional state. I have a few deals still up in the air with certain traders, and some of my assets are tied up overseas,” Amelia says. “I need access to our personal accounts. I need to move some money. Only for a few days.”

“My personal accounts, you mean,” Caitlyn says.

“Caitlyn,” Amelia chides.

“How much?”

Amelia hums, pretending she doesn’t have the exact figure worked out.

“Two-fifty,” she finally settles on.

Caitlyn isn’t shocked by the number. She’s only surprised it’s so low.

“Wait. Wait, wait. Two-fifty?” Vi calls from across the room. “Two-hundred-and-fifty thousand cogs? You came here for a quarter of a million cogs, and you couldn’t even make a real apology to get your hands on it?”

Vi barks a laugh. Amelia doesn’t do her the favour of sending a glare her way.

“Caitlyn. This is important. I’d rather our personal business wasn’t discussed in front of a stranger. Why on earth are you comfortable with her being here?”

Caitlyn doesn’t reply. She doesn’t defend Vi, doesn’t explain herself. She folds her arms over the table and rests her head in them. She hasn’t even fought to convince herself that Amelia was sincere in at least a fraction of her paper-thin apology, yet knowing the real reason she’s there still hurts.

Caitlyn closes her eyes. She takes solace in knowing that Amelia’s scared, that her mother’s investigation isn’t going to be all in vain. Hope blossoms painfully in her chest. For once, Amelia is in the dark. Caitlyn knows her mother’s plans, Caitlyn’s parents know all Amelia’s done, and they know about Vi.

They know her name. They know what she means to her.

Amelia’s never gone to any real lengths to hide her affairs. Why should Vi have to pretend to be something she isn’t? Why should Caitlyn give Amelia the faintest hope that she can manipulate her way back into her life?

Amelia needs to know that this is over.

Caitlyn needs to know that she has the strength to walk away, to commit to something that’s good for her.

Sitting up, brushing her hair back into place, Caitlyn says, “I’m sleeping with her.”

Caitlyn isn’t certain who’s more shocked out of Vi and Amelia. It’s almost funny, seeing them side-by-side, sharing the same expression.

“Excuse me?” Amelia asks, and Caitlyn swears her voice is almost shrill.

Well. There’s no taking any of it back now.

“Vi,” Caitlyn says, gesturing to her. “She isn’t Jayce’s bodyguard, although him getting one wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, if he truly thinks something is going on at the lab. Regardless, Vi is here on my account. She’s been staying with me.”

Caitlyn has no idea if she’s saying too much. She has no idea if this is the right time and place, if there is a right time and place to tell your wife about the other woman. All she knows is that there’s fire in her veins, that she deserves this.

Vi’s shock melts into a grin. Amelia’s expression smoothens out.

“Caitlyn,” she chides. “Be serious.”

“Be serious?”

Caitlyn laughs, eyes filling with tears. She finally gathered the courage to tell Amelia she was sleeping with another woman, and all her wife has to say is be serious.

“This doesn’t suit you. I understand you’re angry at me, but there’s no need to be childish about it.”

“I am being serious, Amelia,” Caitlyn says, voice eerily steady.

Amelia purses her lips together. She looks between Vi and Caitlyn, then back to Vi.

Vi shrugs.

“Oh,” Amelia says, pieces slowly clicking into place. “Oh. That’s rich, Caitlyn, coming from you. After all your tears, after all the promises you made me make, here you are. No better than I am.”

The adrenaline splutters out of Caitlyn’s system. Her eyes are already filling with tears, falling hot and thick down her face. Amelia leans back in her chair, scoffing, arms folded over her chest. She stares at Caitlyn with nothing but contempt, not even doing her the decency of expressing disappointment, and Caitlyn knows there’s no taking this back, there’s no taking it back, there’s no undoing what she’s done.

“How long?” Amelia demands.

“A few—a few months,” Caitlyn says, furiously wiping her face.

“And have there been others?”

How long has it been since Caitlyn was the one asking these questions?

Caitlyn had taken the full burden of the confession, then: she’d grappled with both demands and tears, wanting to know almost as much as she wanted it all to go away, to be a bad dream.

“No. Only her. Only Vi,” Caitlyn says.

She looks to Vi as she speaks, making a promise of it.

Vi is on her feet, expression stern.

“Well, I find that difficult to believe. No wonder you were always so paranoid about my every move, always so convinced my every absence spelt infidelity; you were projecting your own actions onto me,” Amelia says, sighing. “Why didn’t I see it before? You certainly had me fooled, and I’m sure you have this woman similarly deceived.”

Before Caitlyn can defend herself against a woman who doesn’t deserve to know anything of what she’s feeling, Vi takes Amelia’s arm and forces her to her feet.

“Time to go,” Vi says sternly. “Now.”

Amelia tries to pull her arm free, to no avail. Vi leads her across the kitchen, strong, insistent, but far gentler than Amelia deserves.

“Get your hands off me. I haven’t finished discussing business matters with my wife,” Amelia snaps.

“Yeah, well. She’s done discussing them with you,” Vi says, shoving her outside. “Sorry about fucking your wife, I guess.”

Vi slams the door shut and turns the lock. Caitlyn has no idea if Amelia protests, if she pounds on the door, because her shoulders shake and she loses herself to her own sobs. She buries her face in her hands, palms soon slick with tears, ears full of the blood pounding around her body and her own pathetic sobs, choking on half-formed mumbles.

“Caitlyn. Baby, it’s okay,” she hears Vi say, hands on her knees. “She’s gone. It’s just me and you here. You’re okay.”

Caitlyn cries harder, shoulders shaking. Her entire body is so tense that when Vi carefully takes her wrists, she can’t pry Caitlyn’s hands from her face. She stops trying, only soothes her softly and rubs a hand against her thigh.

“She’s a real piece of work, Cait. I knew she was bad, but I didn’t know how bad. Wish I’d broken into your house five years ago and saved you from all this shit.”

Caitlyn laughs, unable to resist the goodness that pours from Vi. The laughter, unfortunately, carves out space for more tears.

“Hey, hey, Cait. It’s okay. Everything she said was complete shit, okay? Don’t let any of it get to you. That’s what she’s counting on. She came here with the world’s worst apology, making you the bad guy, all so she could ask for money. For a lot of money, because she knows she’s fucked up,” Vi says. “It’s good to let it out, but don’t feel bad because of what she said. She’s a piece of shit, Caitlyn.”

“It’s not her,” Caitlyn says, dropping her hands. She knows how she must look, how dramatic and overwrought she must seem, but Amelia’s words have ignited something inside her. “It’s me. She’s right about me. How am I any different to her? How can I look myself in the mirror when I—when I’ve put you in this position, and how—how can I ever ask you to trust me, Vi? I’m having an affair with you. Why should you ever have faith in me, how can you believe that I won’t do the same thing to you? She’s right, Vi, she’s right about me, I should’ve gone about this another way, I should’ve done something to deserve you, I—”

Vi wraps her arms tight around Caitlyn’s waist, pulls her to her feet, and holds her close. Each time Caitlyn thinks she’s done with tears, another deluge racks through her.

“Shh, shh,” Vi says into her hair. “It’s okay, Caitlyn. I’ve got you. I’m proud of you.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Caitlyn protests. “I’ll only hurt you, only deceive you, this is—”

“Shh,” Vi repeats. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Before Caitlyn can protest, Vi has her in her arms. Caitlyn buries her face in Vi’s neck, letting her carry her through the house. She hears the muffled sounds of Jayce asking if everything’s alright, feels Vi shake her head, but doesn’t dare look up until the bedroom door closes behind them.

Vi lowers Caitlyn onto the bed, then lies next to her, pulling her back into her arms. Caitlyn clings to the front of Vi’s shirt, but she isn’t crying anymore.

That doesn’t mean she’s coherent.

Vi strokes her hair, not demanding anything from her. Caitlyn lets herself sink into the embrace, lets herself relish in the reality of the worst being over.

Amelia knows.

Amelia knows everything, and Caitlyn got to tell her.

She didn’t stumble across it herself. She didn’t catch them. Caitlyn had the opportunity to keep pretending Vi was Jayce’s bodyguard, but she chose the truth.

She chose not to hide.

“Do you really have that much money in your bank account?” Vi asks after a time, once Caitlyn’s breathing softens. “Two-hundred-and-fifty thousand cogs. Who just asks for that?”

“I honestly expected her to ask for more. It’s ridiculous. Had this happened a year ago, I would’ve given it to her, no questions asked. I have every faith that it would have been repaid, but to think that after everything, she had the nerve to come here and ask me for money.”

“Two-hundred-and-fifty thousand cogs,” Vi repeats under her breath.

The number is beyond Vi’s comprehension. Caitlyn’s used to businesses dealing in the millions, and she feels the rift between their worlds grow. Her chest tightens as she feels, again, that she’s put Vi in a terrible position, has demanded too much of her without giving anything in return.

Sensing her growing anxiety, Vi says, “I should’ve been taking a lot more shit from your house.”

Caitlyn laughs, despite herself. She buries her face in Vi’s neck, sighing as she kisses the top of her head.

All her bravery deserts her. She has nothing left inside herself, and so reverts to her cowardice, waiting for Vi to speak up.

“Cait?” she eventually says. Caitlyn hums. “You know I trust you, right?”

Caitlyn says nothing.

“What you said out there. I know you were upset, overwhelmed, but I mean it. I trust you. Sure, what we have going on doesn’t look great on paper. But you know what else sounds really, really bad? Me breaking into your home. Me stealing your shit every week. I know you, Caitlyn. I know you don’t mess around with people, and I know you’re not messing around with me.”

“I don’t know if you should trust me,” Caitlyn murmurs.

“Have some faith in me. I know what I’m doing,” Vi says, stern but kind. “Think about when you came down to Zaun. I took you home. I could’ve stayed at Babette’s with you, could’ve gone to a hotel, but I took you to my home. I let you see exactly where I live, what my life was really like, but more than that, I let you meet my sister. You know what she means to me. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone. I haven’t done that for anyone else. Only you.”

Caitlyn can’t wallow in self-pity, can’t let Amelia’s last, futile attempt get the better of her. Not when Vi is there, holding her, making herself more vulnerable than Caitlyn’s ever dared to be.

She leans back, pressing a hand to Vi’s face.

“You’re the best thing in my life, Vi. That would remain true, had I never married Amelia, had I never found myself in this position,” Caitlyn tells her, eyes finally focusing to fix on Vi’s. “I’m so grateful that you’re here with me. That despite coming from different worlds, everything between us, when it’s truly just us, is so easy. Thank you.”

She kisses her, soft and light. It takes Vi a moment to return the kiss.

Caitlyn hears her swallow a lump in her throat. Leaning back, she watches Vi chew the inside of her mouth, before saying, “Vi’s not my name. Not my full name. It’s short for something. Did you know that?”

She watches Vi frown adorably at her own clumsy wording.

“I didn’t,” Caitlyn says, all patience. “Will you tell me what it’s short for?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure thing, Cupcake,” Vi says, swallowing again. “Violet. It’s Violet.”

Caitlyn’s smile wears away all else she’s felt that day. She presses a hand to Vi’s face, running a thumb along the line of her jaw as she marvels at how well these few unlikely syllables fit the woman she’s slowly got to know.

“Well, Violet,” Caitlyn says softly, pressing a light kiss to her lips. “I do believe I’m in love with you.”

Chapter Text

After a long night of work, Vi gets home at around three, most mornings. Caitlyn doesn’t wait up for her, as she once did for Amelia, breath held indefinitely in the fleeting hope of hearing a floorboard creak, of knowing her wife was finally home. She doesn’t spend restless hours wondering what she can do to make Vi stay, doesn’t sift through frail arguments in her mind to convince herself to overlook what the night held for Vi.

Vi doesn’t return smelling of other women’s perfume. She smells sharp, smells of soap that’s all function and no fragrance. She showers after her shift at Babette’s, not to hide what she’s spent the night doing, but because it’s the decent thing to do.

Vi moves quietly through the house, kicking her boots off at the front door, polishing off the leftovers Caitlyn leaves for her, then heads straight for the bedroom. Half-awake, Caitlyn relishes in the sound of fabric hitting the floor, bedsheets shifting, and sighs into her pillow as Vi presses against her back, arms wrapping tightly around her.

Some nights, Caitlyn drifts straight back to sleep. Others, Vi tells her about her encounters in the brothel, leaving her laughing into her pillow. It isn’t unusual for Vi’s hands to wander, to slip beneath Caitlyn’s nightshirt and press to her taut stomach. Caitlyn’s body is wonderfully pliant in her half-asleep state, and she digs her head into her pillow as Vi’s mouth presses between her legs; or else she lets the hands gripping her hips guide her as she straddles Vi, pressed flush against her, doing her utmost to ride Vi as she Vi murmurs how good she’s being in her ear.

Tonight, Caitlyn feels the mattress dip as Vi falls on the bed, huffing at the ceiling. She doesn’t press against Caitlyn, doesn’t move to hold her. She isn’t obligated to, and Caitlyn knows she has no way of imagining the true difficulties Vi encounters in Zaun; still, she considers keeping her eyes closed and feigning sleep.

Not in avoidance. Only to give Vi a semblance of privacy and time to get her thoughts in order.

When close to half an hour has elapsed and Vi is still shuffling around, unable to settle, Caitlyn rolls onto her over side.

“Hey,” Vi whispers. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry, Cupcake.”

“Mm. It’s fine. Are you alright, Vi?” Caitlyn asks.

She places a hand on Vi’s far hip and presses to her side. Some of the tension wears away in Vi as she wraps an arm around Caitlyn.

“Yeah. Just one of those nights,” Vi grunts. Caitlyn doesn’t push. She’s aware that she’s said more than she ought to, that she’s placed certain expectations on Vi, of late, and so she doesn’t push. “Seriously, Cait. You should be sleeping. You’re still meeting her tomorrow, right?”

It’s taken a lot of screaming, a lot of intermediaries, but her and Amelia have come to an accord on sitting down to talk. It’s a start. A little voice Caitlyn knows she should ignore, lest she want nothing but disappointment for herself, says that it could be the end, too.

The end of the last five years. The end of the gnawing void her life had become, before Vi.

“Mm,” Caitlyn hums.

She buries her face in the crook of Vi’s neck, and Vi’s fingers run through her hair. It’s all so seamless, so instinctual. None of it is for show, none of it is threaded together from frayed scraps. This is Vi at her most comfortable, head happily empty, finally settling to sleep simply by having Caitlyn close.

“Didn’t mean to disturb you,” Vi murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Wake me up for breakfast, okay? I want to see you off.”

*

Vi barely keeps her eyes open as they eat. Caitlyn knows she’s had more business in Zaun than work alone, but Vi needs her space, and Caitlyn doesn’t want to demand anything from her. She’s already asked for so much, and Vi is entitled to her secrets.

Even as Vi props her head up with a hand, vision out of focus as she stares at her barely-touched plate of toast, Caitlyn finds that she trusts her. Whatever has been occupying Vi’s thoughts of late, whatever’s brought hesitance at the strangest moments, Caitlyn knows isn’t because of her; she trusts that Vi will tell her, in time.

Caitlyn sips on her dark, strong tea, quietly enjoying the contrast between them. Her, clad in a suit that spells the start of a business meeting, hair pinned up, and Vi wearing only a vest and her boxers, slumped in her seat. Vi chugs down a glass of orange juice, having turned down the temptation of coffee in favour of falling into bed as soon as she can.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Vi asks.

Caitlyn distracts herself with a mouthful of toast, not trusting herself to not take up the offer. The thought of Vi accompanying her to the restaurant she’s to meet Amelia in, of keeping her steely eyes fixed on her the whole time, ready to snap the moment Amelia starts bending the truth, is an appealing one, and one she’s indulged in more than once.

She wants to see Amelia wither. She wants to see the look of desperation in her eyes when she realises she can’t back Caitlyn into a corner with a witness present. She wants Vi’s hand on her knee under the table, keeping her steady, but she wants to give Vi room to breathe, more than that.

Vi isn’t her attack dog. Vi is something much more deadly than that: she’s shown Caitlyn that freedom is within her grasp, and that she has every right to demand the things she wants, the things she needs.

“You’re exhausted. You won’t be very threatening if you fall asleep at the table,” Caitlyn says, teasing. “But thank you, Vi. For once, I’m not going into this hoping that she’ll be able to change my mind, just to make things easier.”

“Never made it easier before,” Vi says through a mouthful of toast.

“You know what I mean.”

Vi nods. She knows better than anyone has ever known Caitlyn before. Her tired eyes crinkle at the edges as she says, “You’re gonna do what we talked about, right? You’re not taking no for an answer?”

Fear flutters in Caitlyn’s chest, but for the first time, it isn’t Vi she’s afraid of letting down.

It’s herself.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Caitlyn repeats.

Vi wraps Caitlyn tight in her arms in the doorway, though a car’s already there waiting for her. Caitlyn closes her eyes, folding into the embrace, memorising the weight of Vi’s hands rested so gently against her back, knowing she’ll need this to fall back on, once she’s sat across from Amelia.

Vi cups Caitlyn’s jaw and kisses her, then waits in the doorway until the car is out of sight.

The restaurant is an upscale one, even by the standards of central Piltover. It’s still a little before midday and the lunch crowd has yet arrive, but there are enough people of note that the slightest hint of a scene between her and Amelia would be the talk of the city by the end of the day.

Caitlyn doesn’t care for whatever strategy this is. She feels safe there, in public, with waiters that could drift over to their table at any moment.

She’s given the Kiramman treatment, shown to her table where her wife is already waiting for her. Caitlyn takes a steadying breath, reminds herself that Vi has probably already fallen back to sleep, sprawled out warm in the bed they’ve shared for weeks, and sees no reason to waste any more time.

She takes her seat. Amelia keeps her face in the menu, as though they’re there to enjoy a meal together.

Caitlyn doesn’t stoop so low as to clear her throat. Amelia knows she’s there, and Caitlyn is long past the point of bartering for a shred of attention. Acknowledging Caitlyn’s arrival barely even counts as basic decency, but Amelia can’t even afford her that.

Eventually, she tires of her charade. She lowers the menu, but catches the eye of a waiter before Caitlyn can speak. Amelia has water and wine brought to the table, then presumes to order a light lunch for Caitlyn.

Caitlyn doesn’t give into the pull to tell Amelia she isn’t hungry, that she’s never liked that dish.

“I have somewhere to be at one,” is all Amelia says, once she’s taken her first sip of wine.

“Business troubles?” Caitlyn asks.

“Ones that could have been easily avoided, had I access to all of our money,” Amelia hums.

She finishes the glass of wine. For the first time, Caitlyn sees it not as an act of dominance, but as her nerves getting the better of her.

Caitlyn sips her own wine. She hardly tastes it, busy as she is fighting off the urge to see the bottom of the glass.

“Well? What have you come here to say, Caitlyn? What do you want?” Amelia asks, sighing. “What more can I possibly do to accommodate you?”

Caitlyn’s brow knits together. Her right temple begins to throb, inviting a migraine closer. The one, simple word that encapsulates all her desires rests heavy in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

A waiter passes by, asking if they’re happy with the wine. Caitlyn forces a smile, nods, and finds her footing.

“This is more difficult than I expected. Getting the words out, I mean,” Caitlyn admits. “I suppose I’m here to make sure we’re on the same page. That we understand where we stand—or don’t stand. To put an end to things, officially.”

Her voice cracks a little towards the end. She wishes Vi was there, but only because she’d be so proud of her.

Amelia gives a curt nod.

“Fine. You want a separation. I’ve seen these things done plenty of times,” she says, pouring herself another glass of wine. “It won’t be much different to the way things currently are, though I doubt you’ll want to stay with Jayce for much longer. You’re welcome to the house. I’ve an apartment of my own, near my office.”

Caitlyn tilts her head. It shouldn’t surprise her that Amelia has spent years taking women back to something other than a hotel room, but it learning her wife has an entire property she didn’t know about strengthens her resolve.

“We can sell the house,” Caitlyn says.

It’s never been a home.

Raising her brow, Amelia says, “Don’t you think that will look strange? If you purchase another house, we’ll have to go through the rigmarole of a housewarming party, which is more trouble than I’m sure either of us want. Social events won’t be too much of a strain; I believe we’ve both had plenty of practise acting the part. Honestly, with how much I’m in the habit of travelling, things won’t be all that different. I simply won’t have the added stress of tiptoeing around you when I return to Piltover.”

Caitlyn could cut her off at any point. She should cut her off, but all she can do is stare as the words continue to pour out of Amelia’s mouth. All of this turmoil, all of Caitlyn’s tears, and Amelia still doesn’t know what she wants.

“What are you talking about?” Caitlyn asks.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? I’m going about this as practically as I can, Caitlyn. Someone has to take these things into consideration.”

“Why would we be attending social events together?” Caitlyn asks, already knowing the answer.

“For the optics, Caitlyn. Half of the couples at these events are doing the same; we’ll fit in better than ever.”

Caitlyn puts her wine glass down, fearing the stem will snap in her hand.

“Amelia. I don’t want a separation,” Caitlyn says. “I want a divorce.”

And though she has prepared for this, though she has recited the words over and over in the back of her mind, Caitlyn feels them torn from her. All sound fades away around her, as though she is underwater, and she fears she has bellowed the words out. Her heart thumps in her chest. The sound of chatter and cutlery fades back in, and no one turns to stare at them.

Amelia laughs. Once, dry.

“You want a divorce,” she repeats. “Caitlyn, dear. You’re a Kiramman. Kirammans don’t do divorce. Do you think your mother would allow her family to become the talk of society over something so humiliating? Really, Caitlyn. Try thinking of it with a clear mind; I’m offering you the best solution possible. The one that works for all of us.”

Caitlyn is certain she has the perfect reply to snap back at Amelia, but a waiter manifests in her peripheral vision and places the dish she doesn’t want, has never wanted, in front of her.

Caitlyn gets to her feet.

Amelia’s right. Amelia knows what it means to be a Kiramman, but that doesn’t mean Caitlyn has to hear another word from her mouth. She knew this wouldn’t be easy. What matters is that she’s spoken the words and let Amelia know what she wants; that she’s capable of wanting, of needing.

If Amelia calls after her as she leaves, Caitlyn doesn’t hear it.

*

Blessedly, Jayce is at the lab when Caitlyn returns to the house. She paces the corridors, poking her head through each open door, ensuring he isn’t there to overhear what comes next: crying, screaming, yelling. All seem probable, and it’s only the brick-sized lump in her throat that’s stopping it from all rushing out.

She opens the door to the guestroom with more force than she intends and stumbles into the room. Somehow, it doesn’t disturb Vi, dead to the world. She lies on her front, limbs sprawled out, tank-top discarded. Midday light filters through the curtains, blurring the edges of her tattoos and making her skin glow around them.

The incessant arguing in Caitlyn’s head fades, for it’s aimed at a woman who would never listen, and wouldn’t change, even if she did. All that happened in the restaurant matters less with Vi before her, one arm slung around the pillow Caitlyn slept on. Vi’s been there through all of this, and whenever she’s had to leave, she’s always come back.

Without fail, she’s always come back. Things have grown more than complicated, convoluted and shifting by the hour, and even when Caitlyn’s been too much, even when she’s murmured that she loves her, Vi has stayed by her side.

It doesn’t matter if Vi can’t return the sentiment. She’s there, with her, averted gaze and all.

Caitlyn climbs onto the bed. With a hand on Vi’s shoulder, she gently rolls her over, watching the little ripples that spread from Vi’s brow and the corners of her mouth as she slowly forces her eyes open.

“Hey, Cupcake,” Vi says, voice groggy. “Back already?”

Caitlyn answers by throwing a leg over Vi and straddling her hips. Grinning, Vi splays her hands over Caitlyn’s clothed thighs, and it really is inconsiderate of her to be wearing so much when Vi has nothing to her name but a pair of boxers.

Caitlyn unbuttons her shirt, throwing it aside, and hurries to remove her bra. Vi, fully awake in record time, lifts her brow and grins, showing off her sharp teeth.

“Good news, huh?” Vi says, absolutely not meeting her gaze anymore.

“Yes. No?” Caitlyn says, not interested in talking. “I have no idea, Vi. But I told her. I told her what I wanted, and it doesn’t matter what she said.”

Vi moves a hand to Caitlyn’s hips, stilling them. Caitlyn only realises she was grinding down against Vi once she’s stopped, and a needy, insolent noise escapes the back of her throat.

“It sort of does matter what she said, Cait. You’ve been dreading this morning for days – years – and now you’re… I’m worried you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Vi says, visibly straining to keep both Caitlyn and herself still. “Wanna tell me what happened before we get into this?”

“No,” Caitlyn says, taking one of Vi’s hands and bringing it to her chest. “I don’t want to talk, Vi.”

“Fuck. Cupcake. You’re really testing me here,” Vi says through grit teeth.

Caitlyn covers both of Vi’s hands with her own, the one on her chest and the one on her hip, and uses the brief distraction of contact to grind down against Vi. Vi grunts, bucking her hips, eyes rolling back for a split second.

“You’re evidently rather eager to get on with things,” Caitlyn says.

“No shit.”

“Would you please fuck me, Vi? I’m very much in my right mind, and while your concern is touching, concern isn’t what I need right now.”

Vi’s gaze trails off to the corner of the room. Caitlyn follows it, only to have Vi switch their positions, flipping Caitlyn onto her back. She kneels over her, one hand either side of Caitlyn’s head, just out of reach when Caitlyn lifts her hips.

“I’ll fuck you into the mattress,” Vi promises. “Once you tell me what happened.”

Caitlyn wraps her arms loosely around Vi’s shoulders. Vi allows it, knowing Caitlyn can’t pull her any closer; not with Vi’s strong arms and toned back. Caitlyn can’t stand how considerate Vi is, how something deeper than concern softens her face, how her first thought is always for Caitlyn’s well-being; she can’t stand how beautiful she is, how Vi lets her trace every tattoo, kiss every scar, how damn hard she is through her boxers while not letting Caitlyn do anything about it.

Exhaling heavily, Vi falls down next to Caitlyn.

Caitlyn nestles against Vi, keeping her hips a polite distance from hers. Vi’s arms encircle her, and a flurry of light, barely-there kisses along her hairline brings Caitlyn’s thoughts to a grinding halt, helps steady her breathing.

“I’m alright, Vi. I truly am,” Caitlyn murmurs.

“I know you are, Cupcake. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear all about it, though,” Vi says softly.

Vi doesn’t press. Vi doesn’t assure her that it’s alright if she isn’t alright, that she’s there if she needs to cry, as she has been so many times. It’s only the weight of Vi’s faith in her, more compelling than any friction between them, that makes Caitlyn realise how much it means that her hands aren’t shaking, her thoughts aren’t spiralling.

A year ago, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to indulge in the thought of someone else’s divorce, much less her own. She would’ve buried it as deep as deep went, forcing herself to give more of herself to her hollow marriage in the hopes of letting the turned earth settle.

Now, thanks to Vi believing in her, pushing her, helping her see clearly, Caitlyn’s ready to take back all those pieces that were torn away. She said the word divorce to her wife. She’s lying in bed with another woman and not questioning her own motives, her own morals.

Caitlyn presses a hand to Vi’s face. Without taking her eyes off hers, Vi kisses the heel of her palm, grey eyes softening with patience.

“She ordered lunch for me. I sat down, ready to tell her everything that’s been running through my head these last weeks, and she ordered me lunch. As if we were there to make a show of being out together,” Caitlyn murmurs, fingertips tracing the line of Vi’s jaw. “That would’ve worked, in the past. I would’ve convinced myself that she knew me, that I was making a fuss over nothing, and that I needed to be more forgiving.”

“But not this time,” Vi says.

Her nose crinkles. It does that when she’s proud but doesn’t want to interrupt, when she’s delighted by something she doesn’t want to bring to a premature end.

There’s a distracting flutter behind Caitlyn’s ribs. She loves Vi, knows her, and it doesn’t matter if Vi can’t say the words back. It doesn’t matter if Vi doesn’t love her, if she doesn’t want her in the same way Caitlyn wants her; Vi cares. Vi understands her, and Vi’s always been there.

Whatever this is, however fleeting, Caitlyn knows it’s changed the course of their lives for the better.

“Not this time,” Caitlyn agrees. Vi smiles, mouth curling at the corner. “I told her exactly what I wanted, and do you know what she thought? Or do you know what she thought she could convince me of? That we could separate, live apart, but still put on the façade of a perfect couple in public.”

Vi snorts in amused disgust.

“So she wants everything to stay the same, only she doesn’t have to see you outside of fancy parties? She still gets to be tied to the Kiramman name, only without making the effort of pretending not to ignore you?” Vi says. The amusement fades faster than it was stoked, and her teeth worry her lower-lip. Caitlyn doesn’t have time to piece together what it means before Vi says, “I mean—would that work for you? You’d get your space, your freedom. You’d get to do whatever you wanted, right? It wouldn’t be complicated, and the galas aren’t exactly every week. You’d get to avoid a scandal.”

For the first time, Vi drops her gaze. Stomach sinking, Caitlyn hooks a finger beneath Vi’s jaw, trying to pull her gaze back up.

“Vi?” she asks softly.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Vi mutters, shuffling on the mattress, rolling her right shoulder. “I’ll support whatever you do, but you know you deserve more than that, right? You shouldn’t have to pretend. You shouldn’t have to stay in that big, empty house.”

Caitlyn smiles, despite the gravity of Vi’s words. Vi’s brow twitches, and get eyes search Caitlyn’s face.

“I know. I know I don’t, because you’ve told me so many times,” Caitlyn says, pressing her forehead to Vi’s. “I told her I want a divorce, and I won’t settle for anything less.”

“Yeah?”

Vi pulls Caitlyn flush against her.

“Indeed. And she told me my parents would never accept it, and that I would bring shame to the whole Kiramman clan; her words were almost that dramatic,” Caitlyn says.

“And you know she was bullshitting you?”

“I do. In this moment, I do. That’s something, isn’t it? I’m certain I’ll spend the night tossing and turning, convinced she’s right, that it can never be allowed, but for now—it’s just a divorce. How can it be any worse than these last five years?”

Vi’s rough, gentle hands splay across Caitlyn’s back.

How could anything be better than this?

Vi nuzzles against the corner of Caitlyn’s jaw, warm breath spreading goosebumps across her skin.

“It’s bullshit. I’ll keep reminding you,” Vi says. “I’ve taken tonight off work.”

“You have?” Caitlyn asks, threading her fingers through Vi’s hair.

“Yep. Wasn’t going to let you be alone, Cupcake, no matter how it went,” Vi says, and Caitlyn bites back the urge to tell her she loves her again, because she doesn’t want to scare her away. Not after she’s made such a caring gesture, no matter how casually she words it. “You should probably go see your parents. They’ve been cool about all of this, right? Talk to them about it, while it’s fresh in your mind. Let them tell you how they feel about it, not your shitty wife.”

Vi’s right. Only Caitlyn’s parents can speak for themselves, can tell her what the Kirammans truly think about divorce. And practicality and logistics aside, for the first time in an age, Caitlyn wants to talk to her parents about this; she wants them to know, even if they can’t help, even if they can’t make everything right.

Just them knowing means she’s less alone in this.

“I’ll go this evening,” Caitlyn says, rolling Vi onto her back and straddling her hips. “Now. Are we done talking?”

Vi beams up at her, biting on her lip for a different reason.

“Yes ma’am,” Vi says, cupping her face and pulling her in for the sort of kiss that Caitlyn chooses to believe expresses all Vi can’t quite find the words for.

Chapter Text

It isn’t until the next morning that Caitlyn heads to her parents’. An impromptu celebration stops her childhood home from becoming a draughty, looming mess of brick and glass in her mind, jagged doorways leading to vast and empty chambers. With Vi’s hand warm in hers, it becomes the refuge it was always destined to be.

Jayce comes home late that evening, so distracted by the on-going situation at his lab that it takes him long minutes to stick his head into the living room, where Caitlyn ad Vi are sprawled out on the sofa, drinking wine. He narrows his gaze at the empty bottles on the sideboard, shrugs, and pours himself a glass.

Caitlyn snaps to attention, telling Jayce all about her victory in the decisive battle that’ll win her the war, and his frustration slowly fades. A grin spreads across his face, eyes not without a flash of worry, and he claps a hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, telling her he’s relieved.

Relieved to have Caitlyn vacating his guestroom, Vi chimes in, and Jayce uses his sternest voice to assure Caitlyn that she’s welcome to stay for as long as she needs to. Caitlyn laughs it off, knowing Jayce enjoys the company, Vi’s included.

In truth, Caitlyn’s already indulging in thoughts of the house she’ll buy, the place that will truly be her own. It won’t be as big as her marital home, won’t be half the size, and Vi won’t have to sneak in through the windows. Vi will be free to come and go, Powder too, and Caitlyn will never again long for and dread Amelia’s return.

There’s a sour sort of privilege in it. She’s always had the means, has more money than she knows what to do with, but it’s never once occurred to her that she could buy something of her own. She hasn’t allowed herself to daydream. For so long, the only freedom she’s known has been in her kitchen, in focusing on measurements, weights, timings, temperatures; all the tiny details within her control, all the variables that can actually give shape and form and substance to something.

Jayce orders them dinner from his favourite restaurant. Vi flicks through Jayce’s music collection, finds the least offensive record, and fills the room with music. Vi has a way of doing that: she announces herself wherever she goes, refusing to blend in with the furniture, and becomes the centre of any room without demanding attention.

Caitlyn lies with her head on Vi’s chest, one of Vi’s arms around her, as Vi and Jayce play a card game late into the night. It’s a Zaunite favourite, according to Vi, but Caitlyn can’t follow the rules. She gets the feeling Jayce can’t, either, but he plays hand after hand, certain he’s going to win the next round.

Caitlyn keeps a hand on Vi’s knee, content to listen to the pair of them bicker playfully, and turns the word divorce over in her mind like she’s discovered the hidden secret to happiness.

Come morning, her confidence has wilted to near-nothing.

She doesn’t even have a hangover of sorts to blame it on. She drags her feet in preparation for the day, trying on outfit after outfit as Vi perches on the edge of the bed, catching her gaze in the mirror without saying anything. She doesn’t need to. Caitlyn knows it’s only her parents she’s visiting, that they won’t expect her to dress as if for the social event of the season, and that no outfit, no matter how neatly pressed, will be distraction enough against a divorce.

“Do you want me to call a car?” Vi asks, gently urging Caitlyn on.

“No, no. I’ll walk. The fresh air will do me good,” Caitlyn says, tying her hair up, frowning, and brushing it out again.

“Cool. I’ll come with you.”

Caitlyn turns to Vi and puts the brush down.

It isn’t an offer. It isn’t a request, either. It is a statement of fact, unwavering support, without feeling patronising. Caitlyn knows what it means for Vi to venture out into Piltover in broad daylight, much less at the side of Caitlyn Kiramman, and can only offer a shallow nod of gratitude.

Vi heads for the door and tugs her boots on, not interested in wasting any more time.

The day is a warm one. It’ll feel oppressive, come the afternoon, but for now, the streets gleam and the clear sky lifts her mood.

Vi walks with her hands dug into her pockets. Caitlyn walks close to her side, elbows almost touching, and wordlessly leads the way through central Piltover. She keeps her gaze ahead, not interested in exchanging pleasantries with any vaguely familiar faces, and tries to steady her heartbeat.

She’s walking, not running. She’s taking this one step at a time, and she’s hardly out of breath.

Vi tilts her head back, taking in the tall buildings. They must look different from the ground, when they aren’t draped in shadow and merely there to be leapt between. Even as Vi studies her surroundings, Caitlyn can tell her mind is elsewhere; for all her smiles and support, Vi has a life of her own.

The state of Caitlyn’s marriage isn’t the only disaster between the two cities.

“Is Powder alright?” Caitlyn ventures, knowing so much of Vi’s heart lies with her sister. “Have you seen her recently?”

“Not in a few days, but that’s normal,” Vi says, chewing on the inside of her mouth. Her brow furrows, lips moving soundlessly as though something occurs to her in that instant, but she shakes her head and keeps her gaze ahead. “She’s an adult. She’s fine.”

Vi lifts her shoulders in a shrug but never lowers them. Caitlyn, braving the scrutiny of crowded streets, hooks an arm around Vi’s and tugs her closer. Vi glances over, keeps her hands in her pockets, but lets out a soft heh and nudges Caitlyn’s side with her elbow.

There’s no time to get into anything. There’s no time to wonder if this was only exciting for Vi so long as there was danger to it, so long as there was adrenaline to be gained in going behind someone’s back, in having what belonged to someone else. That isn’t who Vi is; that’s a manifestation of Caitlyn’s fears and little else.

Her parents’ house takes less than forty minutes on foot, and is not two miles away. Two miles, forty minutes, yet Caitlyn’s spent years feeling as though that distance could never be breached.

The roads, already open and spacious, widen all the more as they head into her parents’ neighbourhood. The houses stand proudly apart. Vi lets out a low whistle as the Kiramman mansion comes into view, family crest utterly inescapable on the tall, iron gates.

“Holy shit, Cupcake,” Vi says, laughing. “I should’ve been stealing from your parents.”

Caitlyn’s gut twists. She can’t explain away all she had growing up, everything handed to her on a silver platter, and she can’t dismiss the reality of her wealth, of the luck she stumbled into. Before her palms can become too clammy, Vi comes to a stop, places a hand on her face, and kisses her gently.

“I’ll wait out here, okay? Take as long as you need,” she says, inclining her head to a bench a few dozen feet away.

Caitlyn’s heartrate spikes, but offers her strength and certainty, this time.

Divorce doesn’t have to be the solution to all her problems. It doesn’t have to contain the lost secrets of happiness within it.

It only needs to let her breathe freely.

The rest can come after that, awkward and stilted and joyous.

“I won’t be long. An hour at most,” Caitlyn says.

“It’ll probably take you longer to get your shoes off and find you way out of the foyer,” Vi says.

She kisses Caitlyn again, then presses their foreheads together.

“Vi—” Caitlyn murmurs.

“You got this, Caitlyn. You’ve done the hard part,” Vi promises her. “Now you just have to iron out the details.”

Caitlyn squeezes her hand, then inputs the code to the hextech-powered gates. They roll open silently, and Caitlyn begins the long walk up the driveway, giving her parents plenty of time to notice someone approaching.

Her father insists on having tea brought into the parlour. Caitlyn’s mother is more inclined to head towards her study, sensing the serious nature of Caitlyn’s visit. As a compromise, they end up in the smaller kitchen, sat around the island with steaming cups of tea and a plate of biscuits Caitlyn takes her anxiety out on.

Her mother raises a brow as crumbs litter the counter. Better to be gnawing at the biscuit than her nails, Caitlyn reasons.

As her father’s telling a delightful story about the niece of his second-cousin, Caitlyn blurts out, “I met with Amelia, yesterday.”

Her father stops dead, mouth hanging open. Her mother reaches for a biscuit of her own.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “It would appear that she’s having some terrible difficulties with two of her companies. I won’t mention what’s become of the stocks in polite company.”

Her father reaches over the island, taking one of her hands.

“How did it go, sweetheart?” he asks.

“It—good? Perhaps. I think. I hope,” Caitlyn says. Her mouth is dry from so many biscuits, and she reaches for her tea, drinking far too much in one go. Her parents watch, barely restraining themselves from bombarding her with more questions, and Caitlyn does her utmost to recall a single word of the speeches she rehearsed over and over in her head. “I told her I wanted… that I wanted—”

Her father squeezes her hand.

Caitlyn screws her eyes shut, barely holding the tears back.

“A divorce,” Caitlyn says.

She feels like a child cursing in front of her parents for the first time. She feels like a teenager caught with a girl in her bedroom. She bows her head, jaw trembling, and waits for the reprimand. There doesn’t have to be words to it. She’ll feel the disappointment peeling of her parents, and their disgust at having such an heir will be palpable the whole city through.

“And…?” her father eventually encourages, after an endless silence.

“And?” Caitlyn says, daring to open an eye.

Her father tilts his head to the side and smiles softly at her, and her mother too seems similarly eager for her to continue.

Caitlyn wonders if she actually spoke the word. If she actually said divorce, if she truly sealed her own fate. Everything’s contained in that word; what more is there for her to say? What other disappointments can she bring?

“And... Amelia thought it was ridiculous. She wanted to separate privately while still appearing to be together,” Caitlyn says slowly.

“Just like we expected,” her father sighs.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, her mother says, “We did take that into account. We’ve had our lawyers draft up some preliminary documents, when you’re ready to look through them. You’re welcome to use your own people, of course, but we thought we’d risk taking the liberty.”

Caitlyn understands less of what’s happening with the more her parents clarify.

“Preliminary documents?” Caitlyn hears herself echo.

“Indeed. I believe we can use a considerable amount of legalese to strongly suggest that she acquiesce and deal with this all as quickly and quietly as possible,” her mother continues. “One of the many findings of the various inquiries into her companies is how meticulously she’s worked to keep her assets separate from yours. You should be able to navigate this whole situation without having to sacrifice anything else.”

Caitlyn stares at her mother, then her father. How does she respond to this? How does she absorb the enormity of the support, stern and unconditional, that she’s been cut off from for so long?

The answer is, she learns, is by crying.

Her father rushes to her side, wrapping an arm around her. Her mother finds a box of tissues to push her way.

Once her shoulders stop shaking and she has a pretence of control over her breathing, Caitlyn says, “But the Kirammans have never—you aren’t ashamed of this? Of me?”

“The Kirammans have never found themselves in such a position before,” her father says. “And the Kirammans have always liked to be first in whatever they do.”

Ignoring him but to roll her eyes, her mother says, “If anyone ought to be ashamed, it’s Amelia. This is her shame, not yours.”

They talk for a time longer. It’s easier to focus on the practical aspects of a divorce, and Caitlyn dabs at her face with a tissue as her mother lays out the timeline ahead of them. Caitlyn hardly takes in the dates themselves, the expected clockwork of bureaucracy, so much as the promise that there is an end to all this.

It isn’t only her against Amelia.

She has her parents, both of them willing to throw their names and money behind her, and she has Vi, sat on a bench a few dozen feet away.

It’s the only thing that pulls her from the house. Caitlyn promises to return the next morning so they can get a real start on things, and assures her parents that she needs the walk back to Jayce’s to process things.

Luckily, the Kiramman manor is large enough that Caitlyn is out of view of her parents once the gates slide close behind her. She catches sight of Vi before Vi sees her, still sat on that bench, slumped forward, elbows on her knees. Caitlyn’s chest tightens. Not once did she fear Vi might’ve grown tired of waiting and left.

Vi doesn’t look up until Caitlyn’s stood before her. She blinks her eyes into focus, dismissing whatever’s absorbed her, and takes one of Caitlyn’s hands, drawing it close to kiss the knuckles.

“How’d it go?” Vi asks softly, voice a little rough with disuse.

“After all Amelia said, after all I was afraid of, my parents already have everything underway. They assumed I’d be getting a divorce. They didn’t for a second expect me to keep up any pretences in public,” Caitlyn says, hardly believing the words as she speaks them.

“Yeah?”

She watches Vi’s face spread into a wide, earnest smile, only for it to all crumble. Her mouth twitches at the corner. Her brow furrows, her nose crinkles, and her eyes gain a watery sheen. Dropping Caitlyn’s hand, Vi covers her face, rubbing at her eyes, and lets out a stilted laugh.

“Vi?” Caitlyn asks, taking a seat on the bench next to her.

“Shit. Sorry. Told myself I wouldn’t do this,” Vi says, hand still covering her face. “It’s nothing, Cupcake. I’m happy you’re alright, that your parents are helping you, and—give me a second. I’m fine.”

Knowing better than to disagree with Vi while she’s clearly so on edge, Caitlyn takes her free hand and pulls it into her lap. She cradles it in her hands, thumbs rubbing Vi’s knuckles, then her palms.

“I really am alright. It isn’t all over, but there are no secrets anymore. My parents know about Amelia. They know about you. They know about my misery, these last years, and how you’ve helped alleviate it. They told me that I have nothing to be ashamed of, that I haven’t brought them shame; that’s all on Amelia,” Caitlyn says softly. “You’ve worked so hard to take care of me, these past months, Vi. You’ve stayed by my side, and you’ve always been so kind, so gentle. And sometimes that kindness has been in telling me the things I needed to hear, but had made myself deaf to.

“But you never pushed. You never forced me to see the truth until I was ready to. So much of this is down to you, Vi. I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, but I can listen to you. I can tell something’s been bothering you for a long, long time now. Please. Let me help you, if I can.”

Vi exhales, long and sharp. Her shoulders rise and her fingers curl, wrapping tight around Caitlyn’s.

Dropping her hand enough to meet Caitlyn’s gaze, Vi murmurs, “I fucked up, Caitlyn. I made promises I couldn’t keep, and now Powder’s going to pay for it.”

Caitlyn shifts on the bench. She sits cross-legged, facing Vi, and carefully tucks loose strands of hair behind Vi’s ear. She gives her a moment to recover from the utter depletion of courage it’s taken to admit that there is a problem, much less that Powder’s involved.

“Tell me. Tell me what’s happened, Vi. There’s nothing we can’t find a solution for if we put your brains and my resources together,” Caitlyn says.

Vi pales. She looks away, hands drawn into her lap.

When she does nothing but stare unblinking at a spot on the ground, Caitlyn tries another approach.

She knows Vi well enough by now that she’s confident in her guesswork.

“Does it involve Sevika and your debts?” Caitlyn asks softly, free of judgement.

“Don’t,” Vi says, low, warning.

“Don’t want? Attempt to help you? I don’t see why you should be the only one without support, Vi. I don’t see why you should bottle this all up while I’m here, doing what I thought was impossible, thanks to you.”

“That’s different. It’s different and you know it,” Vi says, teeth grit together.

“Why is it different?”

“Because it’s you,” Vi snaps.

Caitlyn knows Vi’s nerves are exposed, that she’s struggling to make herself vulnerable, something her life has never allowed her to be, but the words sting. Caitlyn balls her hands into fists and purses her lips together, not knowing what to say.

But Vi, even in her frustration, doesn’t miss the weight of her words.

Raking a hand through her hair, Vi sighs, shakes her head and says, “I don’t want to put this on you, Caitlyn. I don’t want to be another person who uses you, your name. I don’t want you to think that all this time, I’ve been waiting to—that I don’t—”

Again, Vi shakes her head, frustrated with herself. She holds out her hands, palms upturned towards the sky for the words to fall into them, but can only bite down on her lip.

“I trust you, Vi. I promise I do, and I’d like for you to trust me, as well. I won’t look for ulterior motives. I’ll believe exactly what you say,” Caitlyn says. “Please, Violet. What is it?”

Vi tilts her head to meet her gaze. Caitlyn feels her ribs cracked open before Vi speaks a word, because this is the life Vi’s always known; she’s always sacrificed everything in order to be the one who suffers, the one who protects those closest to her. Vi’s been given so little, and that scarcity of sincerity, of help that comes without a price greater than she can pay, has left her afraid to ask for anything.

“I fucked up, Cait,” Vi murmurs. “You remember when I met with Sevika, when you were staying at my place? I lost my cool. Not the first time around her, but I got stupid. I got cocky, and I was sick of always being under her thumb, always being in her debt. I asked her how much I needed to give her to be free for good, and then I told her I could get the money. She gave me a month, and that was—shit. I’ve got three days, Caitlyn.”

The relief that floods through Caitlyn to learn that this is all about money, about nothing greater or lesser than Vi’s fear of exploiting her, is so palpable the architecture of Piltover itself seems to change. She realises, as her heartbeat finally slows, that it is only the way the last handful of months, the way her intimacy with Vi, has changed her view of herself, of the world around her.

“How much, Vi?”

“And it was stupid,” Vi continues, shaking her head. “Because I knew what the catch was. I knew I’d never get that much money together, and Sevika said she’d rope Powder into this, too. How could I be so selfish? How could I risk Powder’s freedom to take a stab at my own?”

Placing a hand on her face, Caitlyn says, “You weren’t stupid, Vi. You made that deal with Sevika because some part of you knew there was a way to get the money. You trusted yourself enough to believe that I’d help you. And I will, Vi. Let me help. If not for you, for Powder. How much does Sevika want?”

Eyes screwed shut, Vi says, “Seventy-five thousand cogs. She wants seventy-five thousand cogs.”

Teeth worrying her lower-lip, Caitlyn presses her forehead to Vi’s.

“Seventy-five thousand?”

“I know I can’t ask for that. I know I can’t be in your debt, too,” Vi mumbles.

“Violet. Darling. The first time we met, I offered you a necklace worth twelve-thousand cogs. After all that’s happened between us, why wouldn’t I want to give you a hundred – a thousand – times as much? Amelia asked me for two-hundred-and-fifty thousand, acted like it was nothing, and had I never met you, I would’ve given it to her without a second thought,” Caitlyn says. “You won’t be in my debt, Vi. You’ve given me more than I can ever hope to repay, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to give me anything of yourself, of your time, because I told you I love you. You don’t have to return the sentiment. Don’t feel pressured on my behalf, please.”

Vi’s eyes snap open, free of tears. Her expression twists into something unreadable.

“Cait. What the fuck? I don’t have to—of course I do. Shit, Cait, of course I love you. You deserved to be loved, you know? You shouldn’t have to put up with whatever you can get,” Vi says, cupping her face. “I wanted to square this all away before I told you. I wanted to make sure we were starting on a clean slate, but I can’t have you thinking—fuck. I love you, Caitlyn. I promise.”

Not for the first time that day, Caitlyn finds herself in tears. Half from Vi’s confession, from the words she’s needed to hear for so long, and half from the brutal realisation of how close she was to slipping into old habits, settling for the little she convinced herself she deserved.

“Oh, Violet. I really do love you,” Caitlyn says, burying her face in her shoulder. “Let me help you? Please? Let me use my name and money for something that matters, for once.”

Vi’s arms tighten around her. It takes everything within her, but after a gruelling moment, her shoulders drop and she nods.

“Alright, Cupcake. Guess I can’t say no to you.”

Caitlyn doesn’t allow them to waste any more time. Once they’ve both stopped crying and the puffiness in their eyes has faded, they head into the busy streets of central Piltover. Vi waits outside as Caitlyn heads into the bank and very patiently explains that yes, everything is fine, and no, there’s no emergency, but she needs the amount specified in cash, and she needs it now.

Two hours later, she leaves with a briefcase full of the paper money so rarely seen in Zaun, but perfect for a woman with as many keen investments and interests as Sevika.

She carries the briefcase for Vi as they head to the bridge, to the border of Zaun, each keeping their eyes ahead. Vi pulls Caitlyn into her arms, kisses her, and promises she won’t be too long, but tells her not to worry if things take a while. She runs off with the case, steps lighter than ever, ready to fly into the undercity.

Caitlyn returns to Jayce’s. She busies herself with all there is to in finalising a divorce, but a day turns to two, and still Vi doesn’t return.

Chapter Text

It has, without exaggeration, hyperbole, or anything else to make light of hours immediately behind her, been the longest day of Caitlyn Kiramman’s life.

She is a free woman, but that freedom has come at so great a cost she cannot tell how the scales are balanced, and if it was remotely worth it. Her feet hurt. She’s spent most of the day sitting at an absurdly long, polished table, nodding and nodding as the finer details of the legal papers she was to sign were pored over, but her feet hurt.

Peeling her shoes off and falling into an armchair, Caitlyn rubs at her face. Her parents invited her to join them for something that wasn’t quite a celebration but wasn’t a commiseration, either, but she assured then she’d much rather head back to Jayce’s.

Her father gave her a cautious, knowing smile, assuming she was eager to return to Vi. Caitlyn laughs dryly. Four days, now, and still Vi hasn’t returned. Her heart pounds each time she hears the front door open or imagines a window creak, but it’s only ever Jayce or the wind.

She’s a free woman. Divorced. Alone.

She tries shaking the image of Amelia sitting across the table from her, face worse than blank as she signed what was asked of her; uncaring, irritated, as though it were just another business document for her to sign. Caitlyn’s certain she’s spared more emotion for her slowly collapsing companies than her divorce.

She’s a free woman. She doesn’t feel any different, for the last five – nearly six – years still happened. There’s a greater numbness to her, if that counts as feeling anything. Jayce promised he’d be there once she got home, but Caitlyn stares at the clock, watching an hour tick by, then another.

She waits to start sobbing. She doesn’t.

Finally, once the room has darkened around her without her realising it, the front door flies open, and she hears Jayce call, “Caitlyn?”

“In here,” Caitlyn says, voice coming out with a croak.

“Cait, I am so sorry,” Jayce says, marching into the room, sounding more excited than anything else. “I want to know everything. I want to know how it went, what she did, how you’re feeling, but—we got her! You know I wouldn’t be late for anything else, but we got her. Finally.”

Caitlyn stares up at Jayce, at the way his teeth seem to gleam, even in the dim light.

“Pardon?” Caitlyn eventually asks. “You got who?”

“The thief!” Jayce says, knocking a victorious fist into an open palm. When Caitlyn doesn’t do more than blink, he glances around the room, becomes cognisant of the state of it, and flicks on a light. Caitlyn flinches. “We got her, Cait. Viktor doesn’t know yet, I just sent a message his way, but there was someone breaking into the lab. I swear, I was starting to think it was all in my head, that I was overworking myself again and seeing things that weren’t there, but I caught her red-handed. It was only a matter of time!”

After staring up at him for a dozen long seconds, it occurs to Caitlyn to say, “Congratulations. That’s been bothering you for a long time.”

Wind knocked out of his sails, Jayce looks around the room for the excitement he was expecting, for the support someone else might offer, and frowns.

“Where’s Vi?” he asks, having never sought her company before. “She should be with you after a day like this. You just got divorced, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn bites the inside of her mouth. She’s let Jayce assume that he’s only missed Vi, those last few days, that she’s been working while he’s been home or is catching up on sleep, but the day’s left her too raw to lie to him.

The truth won’t rise within her, either.

She looks away. The room blurs through a sheen of tears.

“Caitlyn,” Jayce says softly, taking a seat by her side. Reaching over, he takes one of her hands. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Vi, she—” Caitlyn takes a deep breath, forcing the words to come out. “She left for Zaun, the day I visited my parents. She had some business to attend to, but she—she hasn’t come back. I think she’s in trouble, that I put her in danger, and…”

She trails off. Jayce squeezes her hand.

“Tell me, Cait,” he says.

All the excitement of his victory is nothing. Only concern laces his voice.

Caitlyn needs to tell him the truth. Not because he needs to hear it, but because she needs him to know that she trusts Vi. Wholly, completely. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been gone, what she’s taken with her; she trusts Vi, in spite of everything. In spite of her absence, in spite of the lessons Amelia thrust upon her. She trusts Vi, and so she should be able to speak those words aloud.

“Vi was in a considerable deal of trouble, financially. There was a woman, some sort of Zaunite kingpin, who was exploiting her and threatening her sister. I offered to help her, to alleviate this burden from her life, but… I fear I’ve made the matter worse,” Caitlyn says, batting the errant tears away from her cheeks. “I’m terrified I’ve put her in danger.”

Jayce closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. There’s judgement in his every minute movement, but he does his utmost to hold it back.

“How much did you give her, Caitlyn?” he asks.

Caitlyn presses a hand to her mouth. Inhale, exhale.

“Seventy-five thousand,” she murmurs.

Jayce pulls her into his arms. Caitlyn can’t connect the gesture to what she’s just said.

“I’m so sorry, Caitlyn,” he says. “I know, relatively speaking, seventy-five thousand cogs aren’t much, but for her to have taken them, to have disappeared—”

Caitlyn leans back, hands on his shoulders.

“What? What do you mean, Jayce?”

“This is partly my fault. I brought her back here, I gave her more access to you,” Jayce says, shaking his head. “I really didn’t think she’d do this, Caitlyn. I’m so sorry.”

“Do what?” Caitlyn asks, moving straight past confusion to frustration.

“Use you for this. For your money. I knew she’d stolen from you before, but I didn’t think she’d go this far.”

“What?” Caitlyn’s on her feet, now, arms folded over her chest. “What are you talking about? Vi hasn’t stolen from me and disappeared. She wouldn’t do that, Jayce. She loves me. Something’s happened, I know it has. I need to go to Zaun, and I need to make sure she’s alright.”

Caitlyn heads out of the room as she talks, making straight for her boots by the door. She should’ve headed to Zaun days ago. Her divorce, brought on in record time by her mother’s influence, could have waited a day or more. If something’s happened to Vi, it’s partly her fault. What was she thinking, sending Vi with all that money into Sevika’s den? Of course Sevika wants more. Of course she isn’t willing to let her go.

“Caitlyn!” Jayce calls, hurrying after her. “Caitlyn, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to find Vi,” Caitlyn says, determined.

The look Jayce gives her is worse than anything he could say. His expression is wilting, resigned; it’s the look he gave her when she turned up in the middle of night after yet another argument with Amelia, the look he couldn’t rid himself off those first months they spent having dinner together on a Thursday evening.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn begins, uncertain whether she’s warning Jayce or the tears she feels gathering.

The thunk of a pneumatic tube arriving stops whatever Jayce was about to say. He lifts a hand, entreating her to stay, and hurries to collect the message, eyes fixed on Caitlyn until he disappears into an adjoining room.

He’s gone for ten, twenty seconds. A minute. Long enough for Caitlyn to leave, to have already left, to have got away with it.

She doesn’t move.

Jayce returns, frowning deep, all thoughts of Vi set aside in favour of the message held between his hands. He goes to speak, frowns at the slip of paper again, and shakes his head.

“What is it?” Caitlyn asks.

“It’s Viktor. He doesn’t sound as happy as I thought he’d be,” Jayce says. “He wants me to meet him at the station. Now.”

Something clicks in Caitlyn’s mind. She can’t say what it is, but she knows that there’s something deeper to this. Something she ought to have been paying more attention to. She puts her shoes on and shoves Jayce’s against his chest.

“I’ll call your driver,” she says.

The ride to the enforcers’ station is undertaken in silence. Each time Jayce glances her way, Caitlyn sits straighter and sets her jaw, warding against the possibility of him mentioning Vi. Whatever this is, it’s more important than rushing down to Zaun without a plan at this very moment. It’s all connected. Had she not been so distracted by Amelia and Vi, those last months, she would’ve seen it sooner.

Viktor is sat on a bench outside the station, both hands folded atop his cane. It’s been over fifteen years since Zaun gained independence from Piltover, but Caitlyn doesn’t blame Viktor for not feeling safe within the building. Even with her name, with her privilege and power, Caitlyn fears its shadow will engulf her as she approaches.

“Viktor!” Jayce calls, jogging to catch up with Caitlyn. “What’s wrong? You sounded so panicked in your message. It’s good news, right? We finally caught her! I told you there was something going on!”

Jayce’s bravado fades as Viktor gets to his feet, frown deepening.

“Caitlyn,” he says, greeting blunt but not rude. “I am glad you came. Jayce, you need to drop the charges.”

Jayce looks between the pair of them, incredulous.

“I need to drop the charges? Vik! I caught her taking apart one of the machines, looking for something to steal. She could’ve blown half the Academy apart with one wrong move!”

“She would not have,” Viktor says, worryingly calm. “She knows what she is doing around the machines, Jayce. She understands better than we do, at times. All those problems we ran into, months ago, that had stumped us for so long? Do you truly think I woke up one morning with all the answers, hm?”

Jayce’s shoulders slump. His victory, short-lived as it was, is completely given over to the natural curiosity of his mind.

“What are you saying, Vik?” he asks, finally willing to listen.

“We need to drop the charges. She was not stealing from us—well, only at first. But I was compensating her for her time, that is all. She has been my, ah, assistant, shall we say, these last months,” Viktor says. “She has an invaluable mind. But more than that, she is a Zaunite being held by Piltovan law enforcement at the behest of The Man of Progress. You can imagine how desperate her situation now is.”

“You’ve been working with her? Giving her things from our lab? Why didn’t you come to me, Viktor? If you’d found someone brilliant enough to help you, why didn’t you talk to me?”

At first, Viktor’s answer is nothing but a shrug. Caitlyn’s gaze wanders to the glass doors of the station, to the enforcer who’s caught sight of them and is watching through a narrowed gaze. She doesn’t know if he recognises Jayce Talis, or is keeping his eye on the three loiters outside the station, but she knows she wants this done with as soon as possible.

“Because she was stealing from us, to begin with. Out of desperation, not greed, as these things tend to go. But when I stumbled upon her, long before you did, she was amicable to conversation. She had looked over my work, had left me notes. She understood what she was looking at, though I barely did,” Viktor says. “I did not want her punished for something so harmless. More than that, I wanted to engage her mind—I wanted to give her the chance to explore her potential. She was wary of the Academy, of Piltover, as most Zaunites are, but she would meet with me. She would help with my work, in exchange for this and that to sell, to make ends meet.”

Jayce rubs both hands against his face. He groans into his palms, shakes his head, and takes a lot moment to compose himself.

“You could’ve told me, Vik. We could’ve worked something out.”

“Perhaps,” Viktor says, sighing.

Caitlyn places a hand on Jayce’s arm and leads him into the station. He’s recognised immediately and greeted politely, and the enforcers he called to his lab are soon brought to him. He explains, with a nervous laugh, that it’s all been one big misunderstanding, and that he’s more than sorry for wasting everyone’s time. Their eyes flicker towards Viktor as Jayce speaks, and Caitlyn places herself close by his side, shielding him with all her name has to offer.

“Thank you,” Viktor says simply, when Jayce is taken to retract his statement and give another. “I believe you are acquainted with the young lady in question.”

All of Caitlyn’s suspicions are confirmed in an instant. Powder, ever disappearing, leaving Vi to worry, and returning with money Vi can’t account for; the trouble in Jayce’s lab, so easily overlooked by Viktor’s nonchalant approach, and all that’s gone missing, of late.

Caitlyn closes her eyes. She doesn’t know how she’s going to tell Powder that her sister’s disappeared, that she headed to Sevika with an unreasonable sum of money, but she knows she’s going to need her help in whatever happens next.

They’re kept waiting for almost three hours. Jayce is appealed to again and again to ascertain if he really wants to change his story so abruptly, and Caitlyn offers to pay Powder’s bail more than once, just to hurry things along. Paperwork takes an unreasonable amount of time to process, and Caitlyn’s so wholly focused on Powder, anxious to see her released, that she puts Vi to the back of her mind for a short, stressful time.

“Alright, alright!” she finally hears a familiar voice, taut and shrill, call. “You’ve made your point, Pilties. Get your hands off me already! You heard the boss. I’m a free woman!”

Powder, shoulders up by her ears, eyes screaming that she hasn’t slept in a handful of days, stumbles through a doorway, rubbing at her wrists. The enforcers behind her frown, fingers itching to reach for the batons on their belts, but refrain themselves in front of the Man of Progress.

“Viktor!” Powder says, catching sight of him, before skidding to a stop. “… Caitlyn?”

Whether out of surprise or sheer relief, adrenaline-fuelled at once more escaping danger, Powder barrels across the room and catches Caitlyn in a hug, arms wrapping tightly around her waist. She’s shaking with exhaustion, but she clings tight to Caitlyn and lifts her a few inches from the ground, lithe though she is.

“I can’t believe you were the one causing the trouble all this time,” Caitlyn says, laughing as her feet find the ground again. “I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner.”

Leaning back and grinning up at her, exhausted, jittery, Powder says, “There was trouble and you didn’t assume it was me straight off the bat? You’ve only got yourself to blame for that one, Topside. I’m touched you came to my rescue, though. Guess you’re serious about my sister after all, or you’re trying way too hard to impress her.”

With the only clear head in the group, Viktor gestures for them to head out of the station. There’s a crowd gathered, paperwork effectively stopped for the day, and Caitlyn distinctly feels that they’re pushing their luck. Outside, the evening is heavy upon them, sending long shadows across the pavements.

Caitlyn hardly believes that she finalised her divorce fewer than twelve hours ago.

“You two know each other?” Jayce asks.

“This is Vi’s sister, Powder,” Caitlyn says, as though making an introduction between the pair of them is anywhere close to appropriate.

“Wait. Wait, wait,” Jayce says, pointing between Caitlyn, Viktor, and Powder. “This is Vi’s sister. Vi’s sister has been stealing from me. You’ve been—you spent months hiding what you were doing with Vi from me, and Viktor, you knew exactly what was going on in the lab! You hid that from me, too. And now you’re telling me this was all connected! That they’re sisters?”

Jayce pinches the bridge of his nose. Caitlyn bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh.

“What’s this guy’s problem?” Powder asks, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Who is he, anyway? Your assistant, Vik? Some Academy hotshot? I’ve gotta say, I don’t think it was your place to call the enforcers on me. You wasted everyone’s day.”

“Excuse me? My name is—”

Placing a hand on Jayce’s arm to silence him, Viktor says, “She knows who you are, Jayce. We all do.”

Power makes a show off dusting off her clothes. She stretches her arms over her head, gives a great yawn, and claps her hands together. She rocks on the balls of her feet, far from traumatised by the whole ordeal, and drags Viktor to the side to whisper something to him. He listens carefully, nodding all the while, and grabs her wrist when she goes to make a quick escape.

“What? I’ve got stuff to do,” Powder says, easily pulling her arm free. “Don’t tell me you want me to say thank you to Hammer Boy over there—he’s the one who caused this whole problem! I gotta tell ya, Vik, these Pilties don’t know how to share. He’s got all those big, shiny labs, and he was sooo upset someone was playing with his toys that he had to call the enforcers on a girl a third of his size!”

“I’m not asking you to thank Jayce,” Viktor assures her. “Actually, I believe Jayce will be the one thanking you, once you formally accept my offer of employment.”

Both Powder and Jayce stare at Viktor with the same level of incredulity. Caitlyn doesn’t know how much more time they have to waste.

“Wait. Hold on. I understand that this is all complicated, Viktor, and that you had your reasons for keeping this arrangement to yourself, but you can’t seriously mean to offer her a position at the Academy, can you?” Jayce asks.

“Yes,” is all he says.

Powder breaks out of her surprise to snort a laugh.

“But she was stealing from us, and—”

“And it is as much my lab as it is yours. I am entitled to choose who I work with,” Viktor states. “And if Powder has a salary, she will not be obligated to steal.”

“Not obligated, maybe, but tempted, prooobably…” Powder says, arms held out.

“I think,” Caitlyn says, voice coming out loud and jarring, “that this is something the pair of you had better discuss in private. As for you, Powder, we should—”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to scold me too! Shit, and I went to all that effort to be excited to see you, just ‘cause you’re making my sister happy or something,” Powder says. “It’s not a big deal! It’s not my first run-in with the enforcers, and honestly, they are the least of my problems nowadays.”

Powder’s natural buoyancy, the ease with which she accepts all the knocks in life, brings a smile to Caitlyn’s face. She closes the distance between them and places a hand on her shoulder, grounding her without keeping her pinned. Powder meets her gaze, expression slipping from irritated curiosity to something softer, something unsettlingly still. She scrunches up her face, eyes darkened.

“What happened?” Powder asks. “What happened to my sister?”

Caitlyn lifts both hands before her. She doesn’t mean to be defensive, she knows it won’t help, but she needs to be careful. Powder’s the only one who knows Vi as well as she does – better, perhaps – and she won’t take any convincing that she hasn’t run off with the money, but Caitlyn has to go about this carefully. She can’t mirror the fear gripping Powder, not yet.

“I don’t know. Not entirely,” Caitlyn answers honestly. “Will you come with me? I’ll explain on the way, but we need to work together, Powder. I know you’re probably exhausted, that this has been a long day, but—”

Powder grabs Caitlyn’s arm as she turns from the station, holding her in place. Her fingers dig deep; there’s a surprising strength to her, one that tells Caitlyn she can’t hold anything back.

“What did you do to my sister?” Powder asks, voice too certain to be an accusation. “Is she hurt? Where is she?”

Caitlyn only breaks eye contact with Powder to wave Jayce away. Viktor takes his arm, urging him back to the car, knowing whatever this is, it’s between the pair of them.

Caitlyn places a gentle hand on the one gripping her arm. Powder doesn’t loosen her grasp. As fiercely as Vi has given away so much of her freedom to protect her sister, Powder’s face, somewhere between a pout and a sneer, tells Caitlyn exactly what Vi means to her. For so long, they’ve only had each other. For so long, the fear of losing one another has been used against them.

All of this, rummaging around in Piltovan labs to steal something worth pawning, ever at the risk of being thrown into a jail cell and forgotten about, has been for Vi, to help alleviate her debts.

Caitlyn could put her arms around Powder and hold her as tightly as she’s ever held anyone, if it wasn’t only for her own comfort.

“Your sister made a deal with Sevika. Sevika promised her freedom from her debts and obligations, if she could procure seventy-five thousand cogs in a month,” Caitlyn says. Powder, slack-jawed, finally loosens her grasp on Caitlyn’s arm. Powder deserves the truth, unfiltered and raw, and Caitlyn isn’t going to hold anything back. Not now all other truths are free. “And that was over a month ago. I gave Vi the money she needed four days ago and saw her off, well within the timeframe. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”

Hands on her head, Powder takes a few wide strides backwards and lets out a long, loud breath.

“Idiot. I can’t believe her. Seventy-five thousand—what’s wrong with my sister!? Why would she ever make a deal with Sevika, let alone one that was designed for her to fail!” Powder says. “And what’s wrong with you? Why would you let her take seventy-five thousand cogs to Sevika alone? Did you really think nothing would happen?”

Caitlyn would never admit it out loud, but she’s almost relieved by Powder’s certainty that Vi is in trouble, real trouble, and hasn’t merely disappeared with the money.

“You think Sevika’s refusing to let her leave?” Caitlyn asks.

“Uh, duh? Sevika’s never played by anyone’s rules, let alone her own,” Powder says, tapping her chin. Her eyes dart about, her brow furrows, and she shakes off the sheen of panic as quickly as it seized her. “Good thing you busted me out of there. You’re gonna need my help down in Zaun. You’re good with guns, right? Think you can get your hands on a few?”

“Indeed. I have a worthy selection in my house,” Caitlyn says.

Powder sweeps out an arm, gesturing for Caitlyn to go ahead.

“We’re not going to run into your wife, are we? Because that would be a real mood-killer,” Powder says, fast on her heels.

“Actually,” Caitlyn says, eyes fixed ahead, hands already aching to cradle a rifle. Vi’s come to her rescue so many times, and this is the absolute least Caitlyn can do for her. “She’s my ex-wife.”