Chapter Text
As the heavy doors of her room slam shut behind her, already strained hinges creaking in protest, Caitlyn is hit with a sombering realization. There are some choice words to be said about the lingering effects of impulsive anger.
She’s always thought of herself as a level-headed person, possibly immune to the burning sensation that manages to turn even the best of intentions upside down. A problem-solver. All that’s left at this point is an idiot with a massively flawed perception.
The obsidian tide of the night ebbs and flows against the memories of the past few days, unraveling her right to the core of her being. Good and bad, black and white, twisted up inside until it’s become almost impossible to discern any clarity at all.
Disorientation for herself, animosity for everyone else. For the council, for her parents, for the nameless entity that has reaches into her chest and crushed places she hadn’t known existed until this very night. But deep underneath, there’s the familiar sting of longing sadness reserved for only one person.
The traces of disarray left behind by Vi’s earlier presence taunt Caitlyn as she hastily peels out of the damp uniform clinging to chilled skin, sighing with relief when some of the imaginary itchiness dissipates into a heap of clothes on the floor.
Now clad in the least noticeable clothing she owns, scratchy cotton against the fresh stitches on her thigh, she drops to her knees in front of the bed, rummaging around an amassing collection of dust and forgotten knick-knacks for something more specific. The little box has been carelessly shoved towards the back, making her shoulder twist painfully in an attempt to reach it.
Unbidden memories flare to life when she removes the cardboard lid and finds cold steel staring back at her. A birthday present from Jayce, given to her underneath the cover of night as not to arouse any more parental disapproval. Before the academy, before any explosions, before the two of them had been forced to change with the consequences of their own actions.
The urge to go to her childhood friend for help is strong, but she discards the idea as quickly as it appears. For all she knows he would probably drag her back kicking and screaming under the pretense to keep her safe. And despite the blazing heat of fury lapping at the shores of hazy consciousness, she would very much like to avoid punching Jayce in the face.
No, she can’t ask for help. This is something she has to do on her own.
She and she alone knows the particular jolt and twinge of broken, rough-knit traces in Vi’s step, the odd pull of the ropey marring on her palms. It’s their own secret suffering.
Approaching footsteps coming from the hallway promptly erase all traces of memory from Caitlyn’s mind, leaving no more time for pondering and pacing. She clips the little revolver to her belt, hiding it under the confines of a coat, and flexes her fingers against its weight for some semblance of comfort.
After momentary consideration, her rolled up enforcer’s uniform joins the little box against the far corner of the bed. Grim satisfaction rises at having discarded the symbol of her naïve hunger for justice, shared anguish an ever-present companion at the forefront of her senses.
Where is the justice in that?
Before any seedlings of doubt manage to penetrate the raging fire that spurs her on, she wills her heart to stop racing and hastily climbs over the windowsill.
The consecutive drop comes easy enough. As she takes off into the night, puddles of rain bursting into an altogether different sort of storm beneath her boots, Caitlyn remains blissfully unaware of the presence that continues to pursue her.
Even at night, the streets are awake with unwelcome activity. Clanging steel and even louder voices declare that Piltover is in a state of shock, enforcers lurking around every corner in search of suspicious activity.
As a consequence, Caitlyn is forced to take more than one detour, walking with the shadows as the gravity of the situation continues to sink in. Time has wrapped itself around her neck like a noose, jagged and growing until she is almost breathless with it.
The only benefit to the current situation is that she can hear the enforcer’s coming from a mile away. She plasters her back against the decrepit wall of an old building and stifles a frustrated sigh as she waits for them to pass. A drop of rain hits her right on the forehead, mocking.
She knows that there is no easy way to go about this. Every path into the undercity has been closed off until further notice. And even if it weren’t, she still has no real clue as to where Vi might have gone. This is going to come down to a stupid amount of luck and intuition Caitlyn isn’t sure she even possesses anymore.
The bridge continues to loom in the distance as she makes her way across town. Rugged and imposing, it rises into the foggy horizon as a cruel reminder to knowledge. She can still feel it, burned into her brain like a hot brand or the afterimage of a camera flash refusing to fade.
Little time and even fewer possibilities are why she eventually finds herself at the edge of a familiar crevasse. Something akin to yearning beckons from below, and Caitlyn hesitantly peers over the rim in hopes to catch a glimpse.
She’s reminded of her first meeting with Vi, of the way her heart had not only raced but also expanded with the realization of a lifetime, of the way she’d immediately known that she would follow this woman into the depths of purgatory and even further if necessary.
But she didn’t. She let the opportunity slip by. This is her chance to make things right. To keep moving in tandem with someone who never stops moving.
Scarred and rough and heart-wrenchingly gentle all at the same time, a survivor’s persistence to keep going. Always busy, always searching, no matter what. Caitlyn holds this knowledge close to her heart as the telltale ache of throbbing legs continues to permeate through the bond.
Right next to it, regret weighs heavy. A tough pill to swallow, indeed.
She wrings out the excess water from her coat, adjusts her hood, and finally makes good on her promise to follow.
The urgency of the situation has a way of highlighting what exactly it is that Caitlyn lacks. In this instance, the ability to run the roofs of the undercity. A lifetime of the softest duvets and filling meals and hot showers did not prepare her for this.
She fumbles and careens very much like the first time, the only exception being that now, nobody is waiting for her on the ground, ready to throw a snarky-ass quip her way.
In a very twisted turn of thoughts, she almost revels in every nick and bruise she suffers from protruding scraps of metal and drooping beams. Hopes that somehow, the pain will convey to Vi that she’s coming for her and never intends to stop.
Inexperience and the curtain of darkness make it impossible to maintain any semblance of orientation, and she finally touches down on the ground, it’s in a strange alleyway. This one is larger, abandoned crates and a multitude of trash scattered around the cracked pavement. She believes to recognize a small vial that must have contained shimmer at one point or another.
The industrial smog that reigns heavy down here is already infiltrating her lungs, turning every breath ragged and slow. Two hooded figures are crouched near the dead-end of the path, their shadowed faces watching her suspiciously.
She swallows down the fear threatening to rise to the top and whisks out of there before the urge to whip out her revolver becomes unbearable.
And endless expanse of decaying greys and browns sprawls out in every direction, blurring together before the untrained eye. Every path seems strangely familiar, every angle providing the same, repetitive view.
Gunpowder and death. She grits her teeth against the onslaught of memories and rounds another corner, hands curling tightly inside her pockets. This is going to work, she keeps telling herself, cursing the ineffectiveness of the bond.
The only thing it can do is assure her that for now, Vi is fine. Physically at least. There’s no blood gushing from a wound in her stomach, no broken bones or fresh bruises. It’s a momentary comfort for the panic threatening to rise to the top.
Caitlyn desperately tries not to let her mind wander any further. Tries not to think about the fact that Vi’s lungs don’t even hurt anymore when she tries to breathe. It’s more like they aren’t really working at all. Everything is shallow and tight, like an iron band around their chests.
She tries not to think about any of it, but hardly succeeds.
When the road tapers off into a more populated area of town, the first thing she notices alongside the swirling maze of activity is a palpable tension in the air. Husky voices and hollowed faces turning even more eerie with it, flooding her veins with fearful anticipation.
Like the very thought has triggered it, some sort of commotion ensues a little distance away. A loud banging and a crack like thunder reaches her ears, and she looks up at the tilted slope of buildings above, half expecting them to come down on top of her.
Several people in the little crowd that has amassed push past Caitlyn as she remains huddled next to an abandoned storefront. Her height allows her to catch a glimpse of purple liquid flowing through plates of metal, of blades glinting menacingly in the low light of their surroundings.
Her eyes widen when the machine takes another booming step, revealing a person inside of it. Steam hisses from each exhalation, poisoning the already strained air.
Almost simultaneously, Caitlyn’s hands begin to tingle, knuckles cracking as she bends her stiff fingers against the surging intensity of the bond. It’s as though the pain is being deconstructed, molding into something unbreakable and powerful. In that moment, she feels as though she could actually bring the ceiling of darkness down with a single swing of her fist.
A confused murmur escapes her throat as she desperately tries to keep a grip on reality. This is not how it is supposed to be, this is absolutely not how it’s supposed to be. What have you gotten yourself into now?
She shoots off a quick thought of hope like an arrow, as if it might find Vi and speed her safely along back to where she belongs. Not in topside, not in the undercity, definitely not in the eye of danger. Just with Caitlyn.
She has to get out of here. She has to get to Vi.
“It’s a chemtank,” a voice pipes up next to Caitlyn before she has the opportunity to force her uncooperative legs to work. Averting her eyes from the spectacle upfront, she finds herself facing a scruffy head of blonde hair.
“Huh?” she mumbles dumbly.
The kid rolls his eyes, pointing at the menacing machine. “A chemtank.”
He’s a small little thing, dressed in a torn coat, all hollowed face and gangly limbs. His eyes are a noticeable shade of blue, and while his smile never fades, his brows pinch just enough for Caitlyn to know that he’s deeply saddened. She attempts to let her next breath come slowly, so it doesn’t prickle quite as much.
“You’re not from around here, huh?” the boy goads as he carefully watches her grip loosen on the revolver she’d clutched instinctually a moment ago.
“It’s that obvious?”
He shrugs. “Kind of.”
A bitter chuckle rips its way out of her throat. “Well, thanks for the heads up?”
“Thomas,” he announces. “That’s my name. What’s yours?”
She contemplates for a long moment, taking in his ruffled appearance and the ease with which he leans against a small pyramid of crates. “Caitlyn,” she eventually says, trying to smile without grimacing.
The bond is still pulsating thickly, pressing with the intent to crush.
“That’s a pretty name. A pretty name for a pretty lady.”
This time, her laughter is heartfelt as she leans down to arch a brow at the kid. “Aren’t you a little young for that?”
“My brother says it works,” he shrugs, mouth tilted to the side in a cocky grin.
“Charming,” Caitlyn deadpans.
It appears as though the boy wants to say something else when his eyes catch on something behind them. All the nonchalance disappears from his frame immediately.
“We better get off the streets,” he says, tugging at her sleeve. “Where there’s one, more are sure to follow.”
The chemtank is still standing in the middle of the road, the occasional stomp of its feet swirling up a dusty cloud.
Caitlyn is in no position to refuse, the anticipation in the pit of her stomach and the ice in her veins mixing to a form of fear that tells her something bad is definitely going to happen if she stays here. She follows the boys lead, watches him maneuver through the maze of alleys with ease.
“What is their purpose?” she asks, ducking under a beam that’s blocking the path.
“To keep us in check,” he says darkly. There is… something in the kid’s tone. Some insinuation, the shape of which Caitlyn can’t quite grasp. “They patrol the streets, look for trouble. Well, trouble from people like us.”
“People like you?”
“Troublemakers.” The words are childish, naïve, evidence of an innocence that has not been ripped away yet, but their deeper meaning is not lost on Caitlyn.
“So, what’s a topsider doing all the way down here?” the boy asks before she can inquire any further.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Oh, it’s a secret. I get it.” They round another corner, coming to a halt in front of a flimsy wooden door. He gives a jerk of his head in a silent signal to announce that they’ve reached their destination.
Caitlyn’s brows furrow in confusion as she bends down to take in the dirty mattress that’s been shoved into a corner, threadbare blankets folded neatly on top.
“This is where you sleep?” For once, it’s not the bond that stings deep within her chest. She doesn’t get an answer, but none is required.
“Hey listen,” she speaks up, fighting against the urge that presses her to just get a move on already. “I’m kind of in a hurry, but how about we get you something to eat first?”
Something in his stern expression falters. Watching the twitch in the pale hollow underneath his eyes, his blue eyes, so familiar, and the slight tremble of his bottom lip.
“Kid?”
Everything clicks into place.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Something heavy collides with the side of her face, sending her to the ground in a sprawling of limbs.
“Good job,” someone says, accompanied by the clinking of coins. “Now bugger off.”
There are snatches of things, the white of light, a throb in her skull, the glow of embers, a rough jostling at her wrists, the edge of a curtain, occasionally rising up from the gloom but quick to slip out of reach even as she tries her best to hold on.
She dreams. Or, it feels like a dream.
There is a dull, heavy thumping sound, and Caitlyn opens her eyes with a gasp, blood running cold.
The moment, the world, and everything she has ever known has not yet collapsed. But as she lays there, being preyed upon the eyes of a woman who’s unwittingly caused her so much pain already, she feels as though it is about to. Everything is poised, hanging off the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pushed over with what will transpire in the next few moments.
“Oh, now this is a surprise,” Sevika drawls.