Chapter Text
The first time she saw the boy, Vi was picking up lunch.
She was near the City Center, at a café Caitlyn and her father had always liked. Caitlyn had introduced it to Vi a few months after the Battle of Piltover when she was easing into the new, bigger city. She entered, stood, and studied the menu for a moment, then went up to the counter to order. She decided on a sandwich for herself and some Ionian noodles she knew Caitlyn had been craving lately.
The employee on duty was a bored-looking man who couldn’t be older than twenty. When she approached, he looked over at her tattoos and the shock of pink hair and blinked. Something crossed over his expression, something familiar like he recognized her. She got that a lot.
She stepped forward, raising an eyebrow. He quickly snapped out of it and she ordered. When the waiter asked for her name, she smiled.
“Kiramman,” she said smoothly.
His eyes promptly widened and he scribbled down something furiously on his open notepad. Her food was made in record time as if it always was once they knew her last name, and she picked it up at the end counter, then, warm paper bag in hand, shouldered past the door and slipped back onto the busy city streets.
Did she feel a bit guilty about using the Kiramman name to get her meal faster? Sometimes. But she had a hard-working wife to feed, and she wanted to get it to Caitlyn before it got cold.
Outside, the air was cold, stinging at her cheeks. Winter was falling over the city, and fast. She pulled her jacket together around her shoulders. It was old and worn, fraying, and Caitlyn always said she was going to throw it out, yet never did. Vi knew she secretly liked it. She smiled softly to herself as she hurried through the thoroughfare.
Not even five minutes away from the cafe, a few blocks from the Precinct of the Wardens, the reformed police force of the Twin Cities, there was a commotion, a flash of motion in her peripheral vision. Intrigued and a bit confused, she turned and instantly frowned.
Two Wardens, standing tall in their familiar crisp, dark uniforms stood at the side of the street. One was listening to an older woman as she spoke, gesturing wildly with her hands. She appeared distressed, and the Warden nodded along as she spoke, notepad in hand. The other Warden had his gloved hand clasped on the shoulder of a teenage boy.
While the Warden looked pissed, glaring down at the boy with narrowed eyes, his grip firm and ironlike, the boy looked nervous, looking from the Warden to the old lady and back. He just looked scared and confused.
Vi swallowed. This didn’t look right. This didn’t feel right. Before she knew what she was doing, her feet were moving, walking in the same direction.
Now, she was not a Warden. She did not have a badge or some fancy uniform. But being the wife of Caitlyn Kiramman, bearing the Kiramman name yourself, did have some perks. She was married to the Sheriff. She worked closely with the Council. She attended tedious meetings and stuffy galas. She had even helped with the Warden’s Training Program at some point, training recruits.
People knew her name.
So, when she walked over and called out, they paid attention to her.
“Hey,” she shouted. “What’s going on?”
The two Wardens, a man and a woman, turned towards her. At the sight of her, they paused, stiffening. The one holding the boy only tightened his grip and the kid grunted and tried to wriggle away. The Warden glared down at him and then backed up at Vi.
Using his free hand, he took off his hat, dipping his head to her. “Good morning, Mrs. Kiramman. What can I do for you?”
Vi frowned, crossing her arms. “You can tell me why you got a death grip on some kid. What? Is he Piltover’s Most Wanted or something?”
She looked down at the boy, who glared up at her, chin held high. There was a fire of determination in his eyes, the same one that burned in Vi as a kid. He struggled against the Warden’s grasp, breathing hard.
The Warden only chuckled. “No. He’s not. Just a simple thief.”
“What did he do? Steal all the teacups in Piltover?” She narrowed her eyes, looking at the way the Warden’s fingers dug into the boy’s bony shoulder. “Because you’re acting like he robbed the damn bank.”
“He tried to steal this lady’s purse,” the Warden said slowly like he knew it already sounded ridiculous. “Tried to grab it as he passed her.”
Vi raised one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Tried?” She echoed.
The Warden’s cheeks were growing pink, stammering. “Uh, yes, Mrs. Kiramman.”
She let out a long breath, reminding herself she couldn’t shout obscenities at the man on a public street. Instead, she fixed him with a harsh look that made the guy gulp and loosen his hand. Vi nodded approvingly. Then, she glanced down at the kid.
He was small, like small for his age, and he must have been around fourteen or fifteen. He had sun-kissed, tanned skin, and a head of dark ringlets of curls that nearly covered his eyes, which were a deep brown. His clothes were loose on his skinny frame as if they were burrowed. He was dressed in the blue and white of the Academy, Vi realized, and the small A crest on the chest pocket of his shirt and the satchel hanging off his shoulder meant he was most likely a student. Well, a Junior Academy student at best.
He turned, blinking up at her with wide eyes, and she realized there was a smear of soot on his left cheek. She narrowed her eyes, examining him further. Dirt under his nails. Goggles pushed up on top of his head, patting his mused curls. His sleeves rolled up, his clothes clean yet wrinkled. He looked like he had just left a workshop.
He must have been a science or engineering student then. The sight reminded her of Ekko, tinkering in his office at the Firelight Sanctuary, soot smeared on his skin, ash in his hair. The goggles reminded her of Claggor, she realized too, and her stomach twisted. She quickly pushed that thought away.
“So,” she said. “Did you try to steal this lady’s purse?”
He shook his head, meeting her gaze. “No,” he said. “It was crowded and I just ran into her. Before I knew it, she started screaming and calling me a thief, and then someone grabbed my arm.”
He glared limply up at the Warden still attached to him. Vi looked at him too, raising an eyebrow. “Is he under arrest?”
The Warden swallowed. “Er, no, but…” He trailed off, looking to the other Warden, who shrugged. The old lady had long gone silent.
“But?” Vi pressed. “You heard the kid. He wasn’t trying to rob the lady. It was a misunderstanding.”
“Yes, but—“
She narrowed her eyes. “Since when is running into someone on a busy street a crime? And loosen your grip, would you? For shit’s sake, he’s a kid, not a guy you’re kicking out for starting a bar brawl.”
The Warden blinked, looked down at his hand, st the boy, then back at Vi. She widened her eyes in emphasis. Instantly, his hand opened, pulling away, releasing the kid.
He stumbled forward a step but caught himself. He looked back over his shoulder and sent the Warden a sharp glare, rolling his shoulder. If Vi had given an Enforcer that look when she was a kid, she would have gotten a beating.
“So,” Vi continued, a sharp edge to her voice. “Is he free to go?”
Both Wardens turned back to the lady. She blinked, then composed herself. She straightened out her skirts, which were gaudy and colorful, fancy and flashy in usual Piltovian fashion. Her graying hair was piled into an extravagant updo.
Vi fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“Are you pressing charges?” Vi questioned.
It took her a moment to process the question as if astounded that Vi even had the nerve to address her directly. The woman looked back at the kid, then turned up her nose. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Just get him out of my sight.”
Vi frowned and nodded at the Warden. “She’s not pressing charges. There’s no reason to hold him.”
The Warden grunted, giving the kid a shove in the opposite direction. He scoffed, glared at the Warden, the rich old lady, and then gazed up at Vi herself. His gaze wasn’t hostile. It was curious. She gave him a small nod, tilting her head in the other direction. He seemed to get the message, starting to turn away.
Behind her, the lady was letting out a gasp of indignation. “You’re just letting him go?”
The Warden standing next to her, still holding the notepad, cleared her throat. “Well, ma’am,” she says slowly, sheepishly. “You did say you weren’t pressing charges. And since there’s no proof he actually stole something, he can’t legally detain him.”
The old lady held a hand to her chest, shocked. She gasped again. “I thought you were supposed to protect this city. Now you let criminals run amuck, right under your noses.”
The Warden blinked at her. “I’m sorry you feel that way, ma’am.”
“It is distasteful,” she went on, gesturing with her finger. “You should be ashamed.”
“Uh-huh.”
“This is an outrage—“
Vi, growing tired of the woman’s voice, turned on her heel. “If you have complaints, you should take them up with the Sheriff.” Vi paused, pretending to think. A small smile spread across her lips. “Actually, I’m on my way to see her right now. The Sheriff. My wife. Do you want me to put in a word?”
The woman’s eyes bulged almost comically. She sputtered, muttering a half-apology, then something about being late for a spa appointment. She turned to the nearest Warden, bowing her head. “I’m not pressing charges,” she murmured. “Let him go.”
The Warden simply nodded, dumbfounded at the whole exchange. The lady then turned and hurried down the street, skirts flying.
Vi watched her go, feeling satisfied, then turned back to the boy, who was still lingering awkwardly a few steps away, like he was unsure if he could go or not. He had one foot out, ready to bolt if need be.
“You can go,” Vi told him. “Just stay out of trouble, kid.”
The boy looked up at her almost appreciatively. He blinked, his gaze softening for a split second. He nodded his thanks and turned away. By the time Vi could open her mouth again, he was gone.
She pressed a knock on the door to Caitlyn’s office. Her visits were so frequent she no longer needed to bother at the front desk anymore. Fiora, the secretary, sent her a smile as Vi entered the precinct, balancing both the bag of food and a tray of drinks she had picked up on the way. Hot chocolate, Caitlyn’s favorite for the stinging winters in Piltover.
Vi smiled back and started down the familiar way to her wife’s office. Since Caitlyn had accepted the Sheriff position a few years ago, she must have visited her office a thousand times. Usually, Caitlyn is in the field, out and about, kicking ass and fighting crime—leading investigations, and cracking cold cases. But, in the last month, she had slowly eased into more desk work, prompted by Vi’s prodding and her father’s silent and distant worrying.
The reason for her sudden absence in the field was also the same reason she was bent over a trash can when Vi pushed open the door. Vi had knocked first. Caitlyn had come to know it was Vi from just her knock alone and always answered quickly with a come in. Today, Vi heard a muffled acknowledgment, and then the sound of retching.
She opened the door, slipped in, and then leaned against it, closing it with a hard thud. She knew Caitlyn wouldn’t want anyone to walk past and see their Sheriff in such a compromising position.
As Vi walked in, she set the food and drinks gently on the other side of the desk, away from Caitlyn’s heaving form. Caitlyn paused, looking up from between strands of long dark blue hair. Her eye patch was crooked and the buttons of her uniform were askew. She looked miserable.
Vi blinked. She held up the bag, hoping to make her feel better. “I got your favorite.”
Caitlyn only looked at her and then promptly bent back over the trash can, vomiting up more bile. Vi rushed over, coming behind her and holding back her hair. She patted her on the back, sighing.
“Oh, Cait,” she whispered.
Once she was done, Caitlyn wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, reaching for the box of tissues and the tin of mints she had kept there for occasions such as these. She cleaned her face and stood up, smoothing down her hair and uniform. Suddenly, she was all composed and rigid lines, oozing authority. Suddenly, she was Caitlyn Kiramman, the Sheriff of Piltover.
She looked back at Vi, her expression softening as she noticed the plain worry on her face. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice still shook and she was still braced against her desk.
Vi shook her head, helping Caitlyn to her chair, then easing herself up to sit on the edge of Caitlyn’s desk. Caitlyn raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Humming, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to Caitlyn’s temple. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. Morning sickness had hit Caitlyn hard all throughout the first trimester. Tobias claimed Cassandra had been the same way. “I wish there was something I could do.”
Caitlyn put her head in her hands, running them through her hair. “Tell your spawn to stop being such a picky eater,” she replied, voice muffled.
This time, Vi raised an eyebrow. “My spawn?”
“When she annoys me,” Caitlyn deadpanned. “She’s yours.”
She. Caitlyn was insistent that they were having a girl. Vi supposed it fit the bill—the Kirammans were matriarchal, and the firstborn daughter would inherit everything.
Vi only smiled and leaned closer, pressing her forehead to her wife’s forehead. It was warm, and she felt Caitlyn shift closer, letting out a low, satisfied hum. “She’s ours,” Vi replied and felt Caitlyn smile against her.
Children had been a hard topic for them both. Vi had been thrust into the role of a mother from early on, having three siblings to look after. She didn’t know if she was any good at it. She didn’t want to screw up another kid’s life. Caitlyn wondered if she would be a good mother as well. She had a strained relationship with her own mother and was always wandering over themes of legacy and duty.
They had both agreed that if they ever had a child, it wouldn’t be to produce a hair or keep the line going, the family name strong, it would be because they wanted a child. They wouldn’t have a child simply out of some twisted sense of duty or tradition or legacy. It would be out of love.
It had taken them several tries, late nights, and tears of frustration, but here they were: sitting in Caitlyn’s office, food going cold, and their child hidden by the layers of Caitlyn’s uniform. Vi always reminded her that she would need to be refitted for a new uniform sooner than later, but Caitlyn always brushed her off, clinging to her usual clothes for as long as possible. She was stubborn, and Vi knew she was nervous to tell everyone. Aside from them, Tobias, Ekko, and a few of Caitlyn’s closest colleagues, no one else knew of the unborn Kiramman.
Vi dreaded the day they could no longer hide it. She knew the newspapers and gazettes would have a field day with the idea of the future Kiramman heir. Their wedding had been the talk of the town for weeks. She could only imagine how the public would react to their potential child.
Slowly, Vi came back to reality. Caitlyn let out a heavy sigh and pulled away, a hand resting on her stomach. Vi’s gaze only softened. “Are you feeling better?”
“As best as can be,” Caitlyn replied, sitting back in her chair. It was a far cry from her usual stiff-and-straight posture. She looked up at Vi, that glint back in her eye. “Now, what did you say about my favorite?”
Vi laughed. If Caitlyn wasn’t throwing her guts up, she was starving. Vi reached for the bag and everything was silent for a moment.
“Is everything all right?” Caitlyn asked as they began to take out their food. Vi slid the box across the desk to Caitlyn, and she caught it, then fixed Vi with a concerned look.
Vi could never hide from her wife.
“It’s nothing,” she replied, taking a sip from her hot chocolate, still perched on the edge of Caitlyn’s desk, careful of her papers. Caitlyn would have a fit if she messed up her organizational system.
Her hot chocolate was lukewarm. She frowned slightly.
Caitlyn caught it, raising an eyebrow.
Vi gave in. She sighed. “On the way back,” she began. “There was this kid.”
Caitlyn raised her other eyebrow.
“And these two Wardens stopped him,” she explained. “One was gripping him like a steering wheel.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It just rubbed me the wrong way. I mean… he’s just a kid, you know?”
Caitlyn’s gaze darkened, her eye narrowing. Vi knew how seriously she took this sort of thing, especially if there were kids involved. “Did they hurt him?”
Vi shook her head again. “No. I don’t think so. Probably just wound him up.”
She nodded, still obviously concerned. “Did you catch their names or badge numbers? I could have a talk with them.”
Vi knew Wardens who truly deserved it were fired for things such as these—unlawful stops or searches. She knew some stood trial and faced punishment. It served them right.
But Vi shook her head yet again. “I took care of it,” she replied.
Caitlyn flashed her an incredulous look.
Vi scoffed. “With my words.”
Caitlyn dipped her head, smiling. “Good.”
“The whole thing was just a misunderstanding,” she explained. “Some lady thought the kid was trying to grab her purse, but he really just accidentally bumped into her in the crowd.”
Caitlyn nodded along, eyebrows drawn as she listened. She always got a certain look when she was concentrating, and Vi found it endearing.
“You should’ve seen this lady, Cait,” Vi said, smirking. “I wanted to laugh in her face so hard.”
Caitlyn began to smile. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten me.”
“She had so many rings on her fingers you couldn’t even see the skin,” Vi exclaimed. “And she was wearing so many bright colors. She looked like an overdressed peacock!”
Both Caitlyn and Vi laughed, and she continued on. “She was stuck up. I'm surprised she could even walk with that stick so far up her ass.”
“You just described half of Piltover, love,” Caitlyn chimed in.
Vi smiled in agreement at her wife. “And her voice,” she chuckled.
“What about it?”
“She had the most annoying tone. This high, posh accent—“
Vi cut herself off as she sensed Caitlyn’s playful glare. Caitlyn put her bowl of noodles down and leaned in, elbows on the desktop. “You don’t like accents now?” She whispered, teasing.
Vi grinned. “Only yours,” she replied.
Then she closed the distance between them and kissed her wife.
It was half past midnight when they got the message. A building in the Square was burning.
There was a frantic knocking at their bedroom door. Vi sat up instantly, heart racing. She had been half-asleep before it jolted her awake. The bedroom was dark. They had turned out the lights an hour ago when Vi managed to drag Caitlyn away from the study and her precious case files, joking that their kid was going to come out with a pair of spectacles on. Caitlyn had frowned but reluctantly gave in, letting Vi lead her to bed.
Now, Caitlyn stirred beside her. She sat up quickly, back straight, and glanced over at Vi. Vi stared blankly back at her. They sat there for a moment, processing, and then Caitlyn turned and fumbled for the lamp on the bedside table, the one she used to read in bed late at night. The lamp snapped on and they were bathed in a soft orange glow.
Vi only looked at Caitlyn, still half-asleep, admiring the way her wife looked in the lowlight, her sharp features highlighted. It felt real, vulnerable. Her eyepatch was off, revealing the jagged, long-healed scar, what remained of her left eyelid. Vi knew Caitlyn had been insecure and did not want to take off the patch around Vi, but, over the years, she had grown more comfortable without wearing it in the safety of their bedroom, and now the scar was Vi’s favorite place to kiss her.
Her gaze dropped lower. Caitlyn was wearing one of her tighter nightgowns, one of sheer midnight blue silk, revealing the soft curve of her stomach. Vi smiled.
Another knock came.
Their eyes met again. Caitlyn started to move, and Vi put a hand up. “I’ll get it.”
Caitlyn furrowed her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
Vi nodded. “I’m sure.” Her gaze flickered down again. Slowly, she reached out and gently patted Caitlyn’s abdomen. “You need your rest.”
Caitlyn nodded, placing her hand where Vi’s had been. She bit her lip as Vi swung her legs over the edge of the bed and got up, going to the door. She wondered who it would be. The house staff knew not to bother them unless there was an emergency. There had been a few of those, as Caitlyn was the Sheriff and sometimes needed after hours.
Crime never slept, as Caitlyn liked to say, and Vi would always frown at both the saying and the bags under her eyes.
Vi pushed open the door to reveal a tired-looking woman in the familiar black-and-white uniform of a maid. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun and she looked up through dark eyes. Mira, Vi remembered. She had been there as long as Vi had been.
Mira looked her over, eyes widening ever so slightly. “Miss Violet,” she said, despite Vi’s insistence on being just Vi. “Is Sheriff Kiramman awake?”
Vi opened her mouth to respond when a hand squeezed her shoulder. She looked back and saw Caitlyn, now up and ready. In the one moment, it took her to answer the door, Caitlyn had put a dressing robe over her body, pulled on her eye patch, and put her hair up because gods forbid Caitlyn Kiramman be seen with as much as a hair out of place.
Vi nearly scoffed as Caitlyn pushed past her, but held her tongue. “I’m right here,” Caitlyn replied, talking to the frantic maid.
“There’s a messenger at the door, Sheriff,” Mira said, voice low with worry. “A Warden. He says you’re needed.” She paused, swallowing thickly. She looked back into the long hall as if the shadows were silent spies. “There’s a fire in the Square.”
Caitlyn’s exposed eye widened, but she quickly composed herself. She dipped her head. “Please tell him I will be out shortly. Thank you, Mira.”
The maid nodded and scurried away, quickly disappearing down the dark hallway. Caitlyn closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, sighing. Vi watched her, a pit forming in her stomach.
Vi furrowed her eyebrows. The Fire Brigade was for fires, not Wardens. However, when there was a fire, Wardens often accompanied them to help keep civilians back and investigate the scene after the fire was put out. If the fire was bad enough, she supposed they would want the Sheriff there.
She frowned. She just really didn’t like the idea of her pregnant wife near a flaming building.
Vi looked at Caitlyn, eyes narrowed. “I’m going with you,” she said before she could even think.
Caitlyn pursed her lips, her eye narrowing too, but then she nodded, giving in. She knew that tone of voice. She did not argue. She merely placed a hand on Vi’s bicep, squeezed, and accepted it.
That was how they found themselves up late at night, frantically pulling on clothes and cursing under their breaths. Vi caught Caitlyn’s eye as struggled with the top buttons of her uniform, muttering under her breath. Her hands kept slipping, shaky, and she kept messing up. Slowly, Vi trailed over, placing a hand over Caitlyn’s, stopping her.
Caitlyn paused, looking up and meeting Vi’s eyes. She let out a long breath as Vi removed her hand and began to do the remaining few buttons.
Vi bit her lip. “Are you sure there’s no one else that can do this?”
Caitlyn shook her head, gaze sharp as glass. “I’m the Sheriff, Vi. I have to do this.”
Vi paused. “Okay,” she breathed. “Okay, just…” She trailed off.
Caitlyn’s gaze softened in understanding as she saw Vi’s worried expression and the way her gaze lingered on what lay just under her belt. She took one of Vi’s hands in hers, squeezing it. “In and out,” she promised.
Vi frowned. She finished buttoning the last one. “In and out,” she repeated. Her hand dropped lower, cradling the small swell under Caitlyn’s shirt. She met Caitlyn’s gaze, unwavering. “You’ll be safe?”
Caitlyn smiled and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Vi’s lips. “I’ll be okay,” she replied, then placed her hand over Vi’s. “We’ll be okay,” she added.
Vi nodded, though her gray-blue eyes were still clouded with worry, and Caitlyn kissed her again. Then, they turned and left Kiramman Manor.
The building that was on fire was an old apartment building on the edge of the city. It was an eyesore, old, worn, and rickety, with loose shingles and a caving roof. No one would be sad to see it go.
It was scheduled to be condemned by the end of the month.
I guess that isn’t needed now, Vi thought bitterly as they pulled up to the scene wrapped in their long jackets. It was cold enough to see their breath in the air, the air stinging like nettles against their lungs, but, as they got closer, suddenly it got warmer.
The fire was half contained as they walked over, the flame lapping hungrily at the old wood, the building’s bare structure frame exposed like the ribs of some ancient beast. Half of it was already coming down and Vi knew it wouldn’t be long until the other half followed.
Still, they pressed on, dredging closer, and they were quickly swept up into the chaos.
The air smelled of burnt metal and sulfur, of smoke and ash. People, dressed in the red and black of the Fire Brigade, ran back and forth, shouting orders and throwing around long hoses and heavy canisters of fire extinguishers. Two Wardens were already holding back a crowd of confused civilians, most of whom were in their pajamas. They watched as the smoke rose steadily into the dark night sky above.
In the background, someone was coughing.
Vi frowned. She stopped, putting out her arm. This was close enough. She didn’t need Caitlyn to be inhaling toxic fumes. Caitlyn only gave her an annoyed look and pushed past her, going out to meet a frantic-looking man Vi recognized as one of the Deputies.
“Secure the area,” she said, effortlessly switching to her Sheriff voice. “Get these people back. Get some caution tape around the perimeter.”
“Right away, Sheriff.”
She looked back at the building, hearing the groan of the support beams as the building shifted, crumbling. Burning.
“It’s unstable,” she observed. She looked back to the Deputy, who almost shrunk under her gaze, the light of the flames dancing in her singular eye. “Tell everyone to stay out. The Fire Brigade must stay on the outside of the building. They can keep it from spreading, but the building will collapse and eventually smother the flames out. I want everyone far away from it when that happens.”
The deputy nodded, about to open his mouth, when a loud yell interrupted him.
“Sheriff Kiramman!”
All three of them turned toward the source of the noise. A woman was running over, dressed in the uniform of the Fire Brigade. The yellow triangle at her chest marked her as the Chief.
“What is it?” Caitlyn asked, eye wide, sensing the woman’s desperation.
“You can’t close off the area!” She exclaimed, wheezing. “Not yet.”
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, not following. “And why is that?”
“Please,” she said.
“Are you blind? The building is falling. We have to—“
“There’s someone in there,” the Chief gasped.
Caitlyn froze. A muscle in her jaw ticked.
“They saw someone,” she went on. She swallowed thickly. Her next words made Vi’s blood run cold. “They think it’s a kid.”
Caitlyn stiffened, inhaling sharply. Her whole body went rigid, and, oh, Vi recognized that look, the look in her wife’s eye. The determined one. The one that burned as bright as the flames around them. The look that said she would sacrifice everything to keep others safe.
Her stomach twisted.
“Cait,” she whispered.
Caitlyn ignored her. She turned back to the Chief and Deputy. “Keep everyone back,” she instructed, voice hard, even.
Vi shook her head. “No.”
Caitlyn turned.
“Cait.”
Vi inhaled sharply. She reached for her wrist, but fell short, grasping nothing but air. “Caitlyn,” she breathed, desperate.
“Cait!”
But Caitlyn was already running.
The next few minutes felt like an eternity. They felt like torture. Time slowed down and sped up at the same time. It passed in blurs of motion.
Vi felt cold. Like she had been doused in cold water. She stood there for a moment, shivering, shaking. Processing.
A lump formed in her throat.
She forced her feet to move, her body screaming. She lunged forward. “Cait!” She yelled, the scream tearing itself from her throat, clawing at her gut. The scream was raw and guttural. The scream was loud, crazed, desperate.
She moved, but the Deputy was quicker. He blocked her path. She lunged, shoving him, pushing him backward, but he was surprisingly strong. He grunted, struggling to hold her back.
“No one’s allowed in there,” he managed between grunts. “Sheriff’s orders.”
Vi wanted to scream again.
She didn’t care if she was the Sheriff. Hells, she wouldn’t care if she were the Princess of Piltover.
“That’s my fucking wife,” Vi shouted, gritting her teeth.
“I know,” he replied. He paused for a moment, considering. “She’ll be fine.”
But he didn’t sound so sure.
And so, for the first time in her life, Vi prayed to the gods above.
Caitlyn was holding a kid, she realized. She barely registered it as she watched Caitlyn stumble out of the building that was currently on fire and moments away from collapse. Caitlyn was staggering, struggling with the weight of the kid in her arms.
A boy, Vi realized. A teenager. He was still twitching, writhing in Caitlyn’s arms. Alive.
For now.
Vi’s heart caught in her throat. She shoved the Deputy away, making him fall to the ground, but she didn’t care. She ran, and she didn’t stop until she was in front of Caitlyn.
Caitlyn, who was coughing, was covered in cinder and ash, her hair coated in black. Vi put both hands on her shoulders to steady her. Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving. The lump was back in Vi’s throat.
Their eyes met, Caitlyn’s eye watering from the smoke in the air. Slowly, she helped lower Caitlyn to the ground. She gasped, falling to her knees. Vi shifted, taking the kid’s upper half so his head wasn’t hit.
Then they looked at the child in her arms. Vi paused, studying his face, covered in soot and dirt, bits of his curly hair singed. With a jolt, Vi realized that she recognized him.
He was the boy from earlier. The boy that had been cornered by those Wardens near City Center.
Vi looked up at the building that was still on fire. What had he been doing in an abandoned apartment?
Then Caitlyn was coughing and Vi snapped out of her trancelike state. There was a lot going on around them—people swarming, voices, lots of voices. Someone was taking the kid from her arms, drawing him onto a stretcher.
But Vi only had eyes for her wife.
Caitlyn was bent over, coughing. Vi kneeled down, grabbing her. Caitlyn held her, grasping desperately at Vi’s arm.
“Violet,” she rasped, eye clouded.
“Cait,” she hissed. “Caitlyn.”
Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Keep your eye open, Cait. Please.”
Her head lolled against Vi’s shoulder, unconscious.
Damn it.
By the time Caitlyn fully collapsed against her, someone had already called the medics over.
Once at the hospital, Vi had to yell at three nurses before she was finally given directions. Instead of wide eyes and shrugs, a nurse simply pointed down the hallway and continued on his way. Vi nodded her thanks, though he was already gone, and hurried down the way he had pointed, her combat boots hitting the linoleum. Hard.
In a private corner off the main corridor, she found Caitlyn. She was sitting in a chair, slumped to one side. Her dark hair was falling from its bun, her forehead was streaked with dust and dirt. Her jacket had been shrugged off and her uniform top was unbuttoned at the top, revealing her white undershirt, allowing the doctor in a pristine white coat to press a stethoscope to her chest, frowning as he listened to her lungs. Caitlyn closed her eye, eyelashes fluttering, letting out a long, heavy sigh. The hand that wasn’t resting on the armrest was crossed protectively over her belly.
Vi rushed forward as the doctor moved to listen to her lungs from behind, pressing into her ribs, and then pulled away. “Caitlyn,” Vi rasped.
Caitlyn’s eye flew open, revealing the sharp cerulean blue Vi had come to love so much. “Violet.”
Usually, Vi scolded her for the use of her full name, but, at that moment, she didn’t care. She didn’t care. She crossed the remaining distance between them at a fast jog, nearly ramming into the doctor. He widened his eyes, stepping aside as Vi kneeled in front of Caitlyn, hands on her knees. She was aware of the doctor taking a few steps away, giving them space.
“Cait,” she said again, as if afraid this wasn’t real.
She blinked down at her. “Vi.”
Slowly, Vi reached up to thumb at her cheek, wiping away a smear of charcoal. Caitlyn’s eye was shiny, clouded with unshed tears, when Vi finally bridged the gap between them and took her in her arms, holding her to her chest. Caitlyn’s head nestled into the crook of her arms, against her collarbones, hair tickling her earlobe.
“What were you thinking?” Vi whispered, tone sharper than she meant. Caitlyn visibly flinched, and Vi widened her eyes. She trailed off, her heart still pounding.
“I was thinking,” Caitlyn retorted. “That I had to save that kid.”
“By putting ours in danger?” Vi snapped, gaze dropping to Caitlyn’s lap for emphasis. Her unbuttoned uniform top revealed the barely-there bump. It wasn’t noticeable to most people, but Vi knew Caitlyn’s body like her own. She knew every shift, every subtle change. As if instinctively, Caitlyn seemed to curl in on herself, making herself smaller, one gloved hand still splayed over her middle.
Vi looked down at her hands, then back up at her wife. “Fuck, Cait,” she cursed, voice shaky. “You could’ve…”
She stopped herself. She couldn’t finish that sentence. She wouldn’t survive using Caitlyn. She couldn’t imagine losing both her wife and child at the same time.
“I had to help him,” Caitlyn replied, then jerked up. She looked at Vi, eye wide and desperate like she was suddenly remembering the kid. The boy. “Is he…?”
“He’s alright,” Vi replied quickly, trying to calm her wife. Stress wasn’t good for the baby. She had read that in one of the many parenting books she had bought as soon as they started trying. “He’s going to be fine.”
Caitlyn let out a long breath, holding a hand to her chest in relief. “Oh. Good.”
Vi furrowed her eyebrows, eyes flitting back and forth as she studied her partner’s face. “And are you alright?”
Caitlyn nodded. “I’m fine.”
Vi looked down, frowning, then back up to meet Caitlyn’s knowing gaze. “Are you sure?”
Caitlyn nodded again. She smiled softly when Vi's hand joined hers, covering her stomach. “We'll be fine,” Caitlyn assured her. “Both of us.”
Vi nodded, then looked to the doctor. He was startled, turning to see both women looking expectantly at him. “Oh,” he blurted. “You’ll free to go, Mrs. Kiramman.”
“Sheriff,” Caitlyn corrected, reaching over to grab her jacket. Vi nearly snorted.
The doctor blinked. “Right. Of course.” He looked down at his clipboard, flipping over a paper. “You inhaled some smoke, so you may have a sore throat and cough for a few days, but that’s all.”
“And the baby?” Vi prompted.
“We did some blood tests,” he replied evenly. “Everything seems fine.”
Vi nodded again, chest feeling so much lighter. Next to her, Caitlyn let out a long breath of relief. The doctor took his leave then, telling them to come back if they were concerned about anything, and reminding them of the prenatal appointment they had scheduled for next week.
They sat there for a moment in silence, processing everything. Then Vi patted Caitlyn’s knee, slowly standing up. “We should get home,” she said. “You need to rest.”
“You do too,” Caitlyn replied, then her voice dropped lower. She smiled. “You were the one carrying kids out of a burning building.”
“Kid. Singular. Just one,” she corrected. “And that was all you, Cait.”
Vi smirked, about to tease her wife for her tone of voice when her heart dropped.
How could she have possibly forgotten?
“Oh, shit,” she cursed. “The kid.”
When they found a nurse to ask about the boy, she merely frowned and led them down a short hallway, stopping in front of a room. She glanced inside, then back at them.
“He hasn’t talked much,” she said. “We’ve tried to get some information out of him, but he won’t respond.” She stared down at her clipboard. “We still don't know why he was in that building.”
“Is he in shock?” Caitlyn asked.
“No,” the nurse replied. “Just stubborn,”
Vi snorted. “Sounds like someone I know.”
The nurse flashed her a blank look. Caitlyn gave her the look and cleared her throat. “How old is he?”
“Fifteen,” she provided.
Vi felt something in her chest tighten. He was still so young. So young to be all alone.
She saw the way Caitlyn paused, something like sadness—concern, pity—crossing her features, her face softening. “What else do we know?”
“His name is Auren,” the nurse said.
“No last name?” Vi asked.
She shook her head. “All we know is he attends the Junior Academy. No known place of residence or relatives.”
Vi frowned. Strange.
Caitlyn furrowed her eyebrows. “Well, who pays his tuition?”
The nurse flushed. “Erm,” she stammered. “You do, Sheriff Kiramman.”
Caitlyn blinked. “Pardon?”
“He was one of the recipients of the Academy scholarship,” she explained, eyes darting to her clipboard. “His tuition for the year was fully covered by your House.”
Vi understood instantly. After the war, Caitlyn had set a scholarship so that every year five students may have their tuition covered and attend the Academy. She had named it the Talis Memorial Scholarship after the man she had seen as a brother. The Kiramman House paid for it out of their own coffers.
“He's from Zaun,” Vi said, realization dawning on her. The nurse nodded, her lips pursed. “That’s why he doesn’t have a last name.”
“Yes,” she replied, a certain edge to her voice Vi didn’t like, but didn’t have the time to question.
“Are you certain he has no family? No friends?” Caitlyn pressed, arms crossed over her chest. “There has to be someone he knows in the city, or at least someone back in Zaun. He must be staying somewhere.” She fixed her gaze on the cowering nurse. “I expected better of the finest medical institution in Piltover, especially when it pertains to an injured minor.”
“I…” The nurse trailed off, frozen under Caitlyn’s intense gaze. “I’ll write to the Dean of the Academy and try to sort things out. Surely a teacher can vouch for him.”
The nurse left, hurrying down the hall with the clipboard clutched to her chest, leaving them with the doctor, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a mustache stepping out of the hospital room. He looked over the concerningly small patient file, eyes narrowed as he read, then looked up at the two women. “He should be fine,” he assured them instantly.
Both of them let out a long breath. Vi’s hand found Caitlyn’s, interlocking their fingers together, a small gesture of comfort. The corner of Caitlyn’s lips twitched into a smile, but she kept staring at the doctor, face straight.
“He inhaled a lot of smoke, so we would like to keep him for observation for at least a few more days,” the doctor droned on, reading off the file. His voice was monotone, almost robotic. “He has some minor cuts and scrapes, but nothing that won’t heal in time.” He closed the file, letting their gaze. “I think the real priority here is finding his guardian and getting everything sorted out.”
Vi furrowed her eyebrows. Getting everything sorted out? Shouldn’t the real priority be making sure the boy was safe and healthy?
“Of course,” Caitlyn replied. “He’s a child, and he must be so scared. He needs someone to be with him.”
“Hm,” the doctor huffed. He seemed bored, not at all concerned about the boy’s situation.
Vi noticed the way the doctor’s gaze lingered on the file, the empty lines on the Payment and Insurance section.
She stiffened, her hand twitching in Caitlyn’s. “You’re not worried about him,” Vi snapped. “You’re worried about who you’ll address the bill to.”
Caitlyn placed her other hand on Vi’s shoulder, who blinked and withdrew. “I will be covering all medical expenses,” she proclaimed.
The doctor blinked in surprise but nodded. “Alright.”
Vi blinked at her wife, momentarily stunned. Caitlyn looked back at her, smiled softly, and squeezed her hand. Vi smiled and squeezed back. Then Caitlyn turned to face the doctor again and all signs of warmth drained from her face. “Now that that’s settled,” she said in her authoritative tone, the one Vi called her Sheriff’s voice. “I recommend you focus on taking care of your patient, not worry about costs.”
The doctor blinked, nearly dropping his pen as she scribbled something down. “Yes,” he blurted, then blinked again. “Ma’am,” he added quickly. “I am sorry.”
Vi held back her laugh.
Caitlyn looked down at him, blue eye glinting. “Don’t apologize,” she replied. “Just do your job.”
If it was possible, the boy seemed even smaller than before. He lay in the hospital bed, dressed in a loose hospital gown. There was an IV sticking out of his arm and a bunch of tiny bandages on the cuts and scrapes on his arms, neck, and face. There was a scowl on his face as he glared up at the ceiling as if it had personally wronged him.
The moment Vi and Caitlyn slipped into the room, he sat up. His gaze fell on them, going from Vi and lingering a moment longer on Caitlyn, who was still wearing her messied Sheriff’s uniform. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as they stepped closer.
Caitlyn seemed to notice the tension in his body. She held up her gloved hands as if surrendering. “There’s no need to be scared,” she said softly, the same tone she used with the hunting dogs. “We would like to ask you a few questions.” She gestured to the chair in the corner. “May we sit?”
The boy didn’t reply, only blinking at them.
They opted to stand instead.
“I’m Sheriff Kiramman,” Caitlyn introduced herself. She looked at Vi. “And this is my wife Vi.”
“I know,” Auren replied sharply. His voice was hoarse, raspy, probably from the smoke inhalation. His gaze landed on Vi. “She has it tattooed on her face.”
Vi chuckled. Caitlyn sent her a disapproving look and Vi turned it into a dry cough instead.
Auren was still staring at her when she recovered. “I remember you,” he said.
“And I remember you,” Vi responded, offering him a small smile. She knew what it was like—to feel so small, so scared.
“You helped me,” he said, voice edged with something like disbelief.
She nodded. “I did.”
There was silence for a moment. The thick, heavy kind. Caitlyn stepped forward and cleared her throat. Auren’s gaze jumped to her, eyes narrowing again.
“Where are your parents?” She asked, jumping right into the questions.
Something flashed in his eyes, something visceral and familiar. “Gone,” he muttered, then looked away.
“Do you have any siblings?” Caitlyn asked.
He shook his head.
“Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?”
He bit his lip and shook his head.
“Any friends? Anyone you know in Piltover?” Caitlyn paused, then went on. “In Zaun?”
Again, he shook his head.
Caitlyn frowned. “Where do you live then?”
The boy only shrugged.
“Who do you live with?” Caitlyn tried instead.
Auren turned his head, glaring up at her. “Don’t you get it?” He snapped. “It’s just me.”
“You’re fifteen,” Caitlyn replied, crossing her arms. Vi could tell her wife was growing impatient with the boy. “You can’t possibly live all by yourself.”
“It’s just me,” he repeated, looking away again.
“Auren,” Vi said, speaking up. His gaze jumped to her, surprised. “Why were you in that building?”
He met her gaze, though she could tell that he wanted to look away, to break the exchange.
“That apartment building was closed off for a reason,” she said slowly. “It was unsafe, about to be condemned. What were you doing in there?”
Still, the boy didn’t reply, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Auren,” she said again. “Were you living in there?”
His gaze flickered down to his lap. He had grabbed a fistful of the thin white sheets, hands shaking. When he looked back up, his eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Am I in trouble?” He asked.
Caitlyn and Vi exchanged concerned glances.
“No,” Caitlyn said slowly, softly. “You’re not in trouble. We are just worried. We just want to help you.”
Auren glared at Caitlyn, down at her uniform, almost accusingly. “That’s what you all say!” He cried, voice breaking at the end.
Caitlyn pulled away as if slapped, crossing her arms over her middle. Vi frowned, then pulled her away, whispering into her ear. “Let me talk to him,” she said.
Caitlyn pursed her lips, stopping to think about the idea. Slowly, she nodded, giving in. She placed one hand on Vi’s shoulder, squeezed, and then pulled away. She looked at Auren one last time, who wouldn’t meet her gaze, sighed, and then left the room. Vi watched her go. Knowing her, she would probably linger outside the door, listening from the hallway.
Vi looked back at Auren, who was facing away from her, arms crossed. Vi slowly came to sit on the chair next to his bed. He tilted his head in her direction as if waiting for what she was going to say next. His shoulders were slumped like he was expecting more questions, more interrogations.
“Hey, kid,” Vi said instead. “Do you like ice cream?”