Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The sun is still low on the horizon when Vi sinks her hands into the earth, the soil cool and comforting between her calloused fingers. Dew clings to the petals, catching the morning light like scattered glass. She moves carefully, pressing down loose roots, trimming back overgrown vines. The scent of crushed basil and damp roses permeates the air.

A breeze stirs the ivy along the trellis, and as Vi glances up, she catches Caitlyn at the window— indigo robe loose around her shoulders, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. Bare-faced, quiet, watching. The morning light halos her, but it’s the warmth in her gaze that plants something steady in Vi’s chest.

Vi wipes her palms on her pants and winks.

Cait rolls her eyes, but the smile stays.

Vi lingers, just for a breath. Dusts off her knees.

Time for work.

Vi leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, listening as Mara and Thom Elden air a litany of long-held complaints. The house is pristine, every surface shining— the kind of place where nothing ever strays far from where it belongs. The Eldens sit stiff-backed at the table, their hands clasped together like passengers bracing for impact.

“They’re impossible,” Mara says, jeweled ear glinting with the shake of her head. “We’ve tried, Vi. We really have. But the stealing, the sneaking out, the attitude—”

“They’re fifteen,” Vi cuts in, arms still folded.

Thom exhales sharply. “They don’t respect the rules,” he says, voice clipped. “We can’t keep doing this. It’s not working.”

Mara presses her lips together, hesitates, then adds, “Maybe if they had grown up somewhere more… stable.”

Vi’s fingers drum against her bicep. There it is.

She glances at the framed family portraits on the wall, all neat and symmetrical. Three whole months with the Eldens, and Aeris isn’t in a single one of them. Her blood boils.

“You knew this wasn’t gonna be easy,” Vi says, managing to keep her tone impossibly even. A skill she adopted from Caitlyn. “They’ve been bounced around since long before the war took their parents. That kind of thing leaves a mark.”

Mara sighs, tucking her hands into her lap. “We’re just not the right fit.”

Vi rolls her jaw, pushing down the frustration clawing its way up her throat. She could fight this, argue, tell them they’re giving up too soon. But she’s been doing this long enough to know when a door is already closed.

She scrapes a hand down her face. “I’ll handle it.”

The rec room at Hallow’s Rest has seen better days, but it’s not a bad place— not with the Kiramman funding that flows through its veins. The walls are lined with mismatched murals, remnants of kids who’ve passed through before, each leaving a signature behind. A patched-up couch rests near a low table, and the windows, reinforced after a break-in last winter, let in a soft, hazy morning light. The faint hum of Zaun’s streets filters through a crack in the windowpane.

Vi steps inside, taking in the room before her eyes settle on Aeris. They’re sprawled across the sofa, boots kicked up on the armrest, flipping a worn card between their fingers. Their green hair is a tangled knot atop their head, freckles scattered across their nose, eyes sharp and alert the moment Vi enters.

“Let me guess,” Aeris drawls, voice dripping with boredom. “The Eldens finally pulled the plug?”

Vi crosses the room, dropping into the armchair opposite. “You make it sound like life support.”

Aeris snorts, flicking the card and sending it spinning across the table. “Wasn’t it?” They look at Vi sideways. “So, where to now? That hellhole behind Babette’s?”

Vi shakes her head, firm. “You know I’d never send you back there.”

Aeris’s lip curls. “So, another nice Piltie house with nice Piltie furniture and shitty Piltie expectations?”

Vi catches the bite in their voice, the way each word is wielded like a weapon.

She knows the feeling.

Knows what it’s like to be defiant, flinty— burying the hurt because it’s easier that way.

Until, of course, it isn’t.

“You’re going somewhere better,” Vi says, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “They’ve got other kids your age. Space to breathe.”

Aeris scoffs, rolling their eyes. “Sounds like a dream.”

Vi massages her jaw absently, trying to find the right words.

“It’s probably not forever,” she admits, gentler now, her gaze steady. “But if you keep your head up, do your thing… you’ll land somewhere that sticks. Promise.”

Aeris meets her eyes, their expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, with a lazy shrug, they swing their legs off the couch and stand. “Guess I should start packing.”

Vi smirks, just a little. “Try not to steal anything this time around, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah. No promises.” Aeris’s mouth twitches, like they might actually smile. For the first time today, there’s a flicker of something else in their eyes— something softer. It doesn’t last long, but it’s there.

Vi watches them go, a weight settling in her chest. She swears under her breath, rubbing a hand over her face.

She should be used to this by now.

She isn’t.

The bridge between Piltover and Zaun hums with life, a thread woven through two worlds. The market stalls spill over with color, voices calling out in various languages and blends of pitches, the tang of street food mingling with the crisp air of early evening. Vi walks at the edge of the Zaunite side, boots shuffling lightly against the stone, her eyes sweeping over the stands. She catches sight of one of the Firelights and, with a quick breath, reminds herself that a dinner with Ekko is way overdue.

A few paces ahead, Caitlyn hovers, engrossed in conversation with a merchant, her poised back turned to Vi. The steady motion of Caitlyn’s hands and the careful quirk of her head makes Vi smile, the simple sight of it so familiar, so grounding. But Vi doesn’t linger on that— she’s learned the art of letting Cait have her space, the rhythm of their days a well-rehearsed duet.

That’s when she feels it— a tug on her sleeve. A small hand, sweaty and insistent, grabbing for her own.

Vi turns, her eyes meeting the bright, eager gaze of two children, no older than seven or eight. The girl’s brown hair is tied up in intricate braids, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and the boy at her side is bouncing with energy, his blonde curls wild and untamed.

“Excuse me,” the girl says, her voice full of enthusiasm. “Can we give you another tattoo?”

Vi raises an eyebrow, amusement flickering across her face. “A tattoo, huh?” She looks down at the pair, then at Caitlyn in the distance, her wife still deep in conversation.

The boy nods vigorously. “Yeah, with paint! You’ve got big muscles. We could make them look even cooler,” he says, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Vi chuckles softly, crouching down to their level, the familiar ease of children pulling something warm out of her. She’s been around enough to know how to hold their attention, how to let them feel like they’re in control, if only for a little while. “Alright, alright,” she says, feigning seriousness, “What kind of tattoo are we talking here?”

The girl produces a small vial of paint, the green shade vibrant against her tiny hands. She holds it up proudly. “A magic paint tattoo,” she declares. “My mama said Janna, the wind goddess, blessed it.”

Vi inches closer, a playful smile pulling at her lips. “Magic paint? Well, lucky for you, that’s the only kind of tattoo I’ll accept from strangers.”

“So you’ll let us?” the boy asks.

Vi holds out her arm in answer. She’s been through this before, not with paint, but with kids who are desperate to leave a trace, to carve out their place in the world. The girl takes her wrist, steadying it as the boy reaches for the brushes. His strokes come bold and swift— a swirling line across her forearm, a star just below her wrist, a flower blooming near her elbow.

Vi watches them work, heart softening. “You two are pretty good at this,” she praises, glancing down at their concentrated faces.

The boy, chest puffed up with pride, grins. “We’re gonna be famous painters.”

Vi laughs, the sound a little fuller, a little freer. “I believe it.” She pauses, her gaze drifting to their hands as they finish their work— small, unmarked, clean, save for the dirt caked under their nails and the splotches splattered across their skin. It’s almost startling how smooth their skin is, how their fingertips haven’t been hardened by the world the way hers already were at that age. But these hands… there’s something about them, something achingly familiar. A memory brushes against the edges of her mind, quiet but insistent.

Powder’s hands.

Vi swallows. Shakes it off. “And what do I owe for these masterpieces?”

The kids exchange a quick look, surprise written across their faces, as if the idea hadn’t even crossed their minds. They whisper to each other for a moment before the girl, eyes sparkling with intensity, turns to her.

“You have to promise to wear it. For a whole day. Everywhere you go.”

Vi nods. Offers up a hand, which the girl shakes vigorously. “Deal.”

She takes in her painted arm, gazing down at the vibrant swirls of color, the delicate flowers unfolding across her skin, and the tiny, intricate leaves that seem to dance between the lines.

“You were right,” Violet declares. “I look even cooler.”

The girl giggles, clapping her hands happily. “You’re welcome!”

Vi chuckles, straightening up as the children saunter off, their laughter trailing behind them like ribbons in the wind. She turns her gaze toward Caitlyn, and for a moment, the world seems to slow, the noise of the market blurring into the background. Cait’s eyes are already on her, and something electric hums between them, unspoken but heavy, like two notes held just long enough to become a chord.

Caitlyn doesn’t smile exactly, but her lips curve in that soft, familiar way. Sweet, knowing— the kind of curve that makes Vi feel suddenly off-balance, as if the ground beneath her is trembling.

Time stretches, drawn thin with longing. The breeze sweeps a strand of midnight ink across Cait’s mouth, and for a fleeting second, Vi wishes it were her hand, tucking it back into place.

The merchant vies for Cait’s attention, calling out to her, and the moment slips away, like sand through open fingers. But soon, Vi follows after her wife, the crowd parting easily for her as if caught in a gust of Janna’s winds. There is a tangible flicker of warmth as her hand brushes Cait’s arm, fingers grazing lightly. Vi feels the spark settle deep in her stomach.

Caitlyn’s gaze flicks to her, a gentle, appreciative smile curling at the edges of her lips upon seeing the artwork adorning Violet’s skin. “Hm. It’s… surprisingly good. They’ve got an eye for detail, those two. Clever children.”

“But Cait,” Vi smirks, her eyes darkening a touch. “That’s not even the best part.”

“No?” Caitlyn leans in, her breath teasing Vi’s cheek as her fingers trail lightly across the wrist marked by rainbow flowers.

“No,” Vi murmurs. “They did it with magic paint.”

Without breaking her gaze, Caitlyn steps forward, deliberately brushing past Vi with a slow, measured pace. The sway of her hips pulls Vi’s attention like moth to flame, a quiet, smoldering hunger igniting in her chest. Vi watches, a knowing smile playing at her lips. She can already feel the night unfolding.

She jogs after her wife, closing the distance with a low chuckle. “You know, you’re practically setting the whole market on fire with that walk. Should I start charging people for the view?”

Caitlyn doesn’t miss a beat, her smile warm and teasing. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

Vi raises an eyebrow, heat simmering in her chest. “Well, I’m not complaining... but you’re gonna have to let me stretch first. Don’t want to pull anything when we get back home. Early morning and all that.”

Caitlyn’s grin widens with promise, and Vi watches, entranced.

It tells her everything.

Tonight is going to be exactly what Vi expects.

“Vi, Violet— yes— don’t stop—” Caitlyn’s voice is breathless, wrecked, her fingers twisting in Vi’s hair, tugging, pleading. The week had stretched long between them, too many days spent apart, too many nights spent yearning, but now— now Vi is here, pressing her down, anchoring her to the bed with every flick of her tongue.

“Please, please, please— oh, Vi—” Caitlyn stutters, her hips rolling up, chasing the friction, chasing Vi, as if she could sink inside her and never come up for air. Vi hums against her needily, drinking in the desperate little sounds spilling from Cait’s lips like they’re the only thing keeping her from death. They might be.

Caitlyn chokes out a weak cry, coming undone for the third time that night, her body arching, trembling, surrendering. Vi groans at the way she shatters, holding her thighs apart, lapping up the aftershocks, coaxing her through every last tremor until Caitlyn is nothing but a spent, broken mess beneath her.

She lingers, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to Caitlyn’s inner thigh before crawling up the length of her body, trailing open-mouthed kisses along sweat-slicked skin— her stomach, her ribs, her throat— tasting heat, tasting her. Caitlyn shudders, hands weak but searching, pulling Vi closer, closer, greedy even now. By the time their mouths meet, Caitlyn is barely coherent, her kiss languid but insistent. Cait whimpers when she tastes herself on Vi’s lips, hoarse and low, and Vi presses back in, savoring the remnants of the wreckage she’s left behind. A slick string of spit connects their mouths as they part.

At last, the weight of it all crashes over Violet. She collapses— boneless, drained.

The air is thick with the scent of sex, a humid haze that clings to Vi like a heavy blanket— and oh, that’s Cait, pulling the comforter around them. Cait telling her how good she is, how handsome. Vi’s cheek rests against Caitlyn’s bare chest, sweaty, content. The weight of the day is forgotten, momentarily melting into the sheets beneath them.

Caitlyn’s hand sifts lazily through her mussed hair, a steady rhythm that matches the beating of their hearts. Vi tucks herself closer.

“That was perfect, my love,” Cait sighs, her voice a lilt like the last whisper of a breeze before dusk.

Vi hums in agreement. “Always is with you.”

She wants to stay here, in this moment, tangled up in Caitlyn, in the flickering candlelight that casts golden pools across their skin. But Vi’s mind is a restless thing, a storm brewing even in still waters. It drifts where she doesn’t want it to— where blood spills thick and red, where fists crash against bone, where the weight of loss sits heavy in her chest.

A stone she can’t swallow.

The paint on her arm catches her eye— a smear of red, too dark, too familiar. It conjures an image of Jinx, of that final battle, her sister a blur of color in her peripheral, war paint streaked across her skin. Jinx, slipping from her grasp. Jinx, reaching— desperate, frantic— for Isha. Isha, steady as ever. No fear in her eyes, only love. Certainty. Her finger on the trigger, unwavering despite the chaos, despite the tremor in her breath. And then—

The sharp crack of a gunshot. And then—

Vi’s hands, emptied. Again and again. The world surging forward anyway. And then—

Caitlyn’s hand stills, a question left unsaid.

“Six years,” Vi mutters in answer, the words like ash on her tongue.

Cait exhales, then resumes stroking Vi’s hair, a silent reassurance. She leans down, pressing a kiss to Vi’s temple, her touch warm and patient.

“Six years,” she echoes.

The quiet that follows is different now— weightier, thoughtful. It settles over them like smog, clinging as unspoken things often do. Caitlyn, ever perceptive, ever knowing, senses it too.

“Would you like to hear about my day?” she whispers, a gentle offering, a rope tossed to keep Violet tethered here, in this bed, for just a little while longer.

Vi nods, the motion slight, but there. Caitlyn begins to ramble endlessly, her voice a soothing cadence, filling the room with stories of the mundane, the ordinary, the world beyond battle and bruises and bloodshed. Vi drifts in and out, lulled by the steady heartbeat beneath her ear.

And then—

“I met a little Zaunite girl on my walk this morning,” Cait says, her tone light, a spark of tenderness threading through.

Vi smiles sleepily, eyes half-lidded. “Yeah?”

“Pink hair like you,” Caitlyn continues. “She grabbed at my skirts and asked, ‘Are you a princess, or a pirate?’”

Vi’s mouth quirks. “What’d you say?”

Caitlyn’s grin is audible, a sweet, amused thing. “I told her I was a princess. But only on my days off, of course.”

The image of Caitlyn, kneeling before some wide-eyed little girl, teasing and kind, tugs at something in Vi’s chest— a warmth edged with an ache. She folds into her, chasing Caitlyn’s heat, but beneath it, a deeper longing stirs, something old and buried threatening to surface.

And then Caitlyn’s voice settles, softer now, careful in a way that makes Vi’s pulse skip. A hesitation. A question perched on the edge of something larger.

“Violet,” Caitlyn breathes, the name a quiet reverence on her lips. “Have you ever thought about it? Having children, I mean?”

Vi blinks, stunned.

She should’ve seen this coming, really.

The idea wraps itself around her throat. She flinches from it, almost without thinking. Futures, dreams— she’s never let herself linger too long there. There was no room for wishes in her childhood, no space for want beneath the weight of survival. And then Stillwater— cold and endless— had suffocated the hope out of her, left it brittle and foreign. She’d only dared to hope for one thing— to reach her baby sister. That hope had kept her breathing when nothing else could.

Cait’s arms tighten around her, no pity in her touch, only noiseless understanding. She kisses Vi’s forehead again, something Vi will never tire of.

“Would you want them?” Caitlyn asks, trembling. “With me?”

Vi shifts, sitting up to meet Cait’s gaze. Caitlyn is looking at her— sure, steady— not with judgment or expectation, but with something she can’t quite name. The kind of want that doesn’t ask for anything. The kind of hope that could ruin you completely.

Her breath shudders.

A family.

It splits Vi open, the way Caitlyn looks at her. It always does. Wide-eyed and soft, like she already knows how Vi will answer. Like she’s already imagined it— their life, their family, the shape of it etched into her heart. Vi feels that vision crawling under her skin, taking root, warm and bright and unbearable.

It doesn’t hurt, she notices.

It should, but it doesn’t. Somehow. There’s only the ache of possibility pressing against her ribs. Her hand finds her wife’s of its own accord, and Caitlyn’s fingers close around hers, loving. Certain. Vi, still learning, lets herself hold on.

“Yeah,” she confesses, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I would. I do.”

And in that moment, Vi realizes that even the things she thought were entirely impossible might just be waiting for her, hidden in the space between their fingers.

Vi’s fingers slide over the smooth line of Caitlyn’s back, the cool silk of her dress parting beneath her touch. The deep blue fabric catches the low light, dark as storm-washed violets. Caitlyn’s bare shoulders glow pale and soft beneath Vi’s gaze, the curve of her neck drawing Vi’s attention like a hook beneath the skin.

She pulls the zipper up, slow and deliberate, knuckles brushing Caitlyn’s spine. The dress fits like it was made for her— because, of course, it was.

“There,” Vi murmurs, reverent. Her lips find the slope of Caitlyn’s neck, a press of heat against smooth skin. Tongue darting out to taste.

“Vi, darling—” Caitlyn’s breath hitches.

“Hm?” Vi’s mouth skims higher, settling beneath Caitlyn’s ear.

“Oh, you’re a criminal.”

Vi grins, teeth grazing the lobe. “Ex-criminal,” she corrects. “Good thing I already did my time.”

Caitlyn’s head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut. Vi’s hand finds her waist, steadying her as she mouths at the sharp angle of Caitlyn’s jaw.

Vi shifts closer, pressing flush against Caitlyn’s back, her breath warm at the shell of her ear. “You gonna cuff me, Sheriff?”

Caitlyn exhales shakily. “No marks—” Her voice splinters as Vi’s teeth graze the hollow of her throat. “The gala, Violet— Gods—”

Violet.

Vi smirks. Victory. “I’ll be quick.”

The day starts off simple.

Coffee bubbles on the stove, dark and rich, steam curling into the air. Caitlyn sits at the table, legs tucked beneath her, a quiet smile on her lips as she watches Vi through the open window.
Vi is crouched in the garden, scowling at a patch of stubborn weeds. Her knuckles press into the soil, nails dirty from digging. “Should’ve let them spread,” Vi mutters, tugging at the roots. A bead of sweat slips down her temple. “Could’ve saved myself a sore arm.”

“You love your flowers too much,” Caitlyn calls.

Vi scoffs, yanking another weed free. “Like hell I do.”

Cait hums knowingly, taking a slow sip of coffee. Sunlight catches the rim of her cup, gilding the rising steam. The morning air is sweet and cool, threaded with the sharp scent of earth and the bitter bite of caffeine.

A knock at the garden gate. Caitlyn glances up as Giles, one of the house staff, approaches with a thin envelope in his gloved hand. His expression is neutral, but Vi can see the hint of interest beneath the formality.

“For you,” Giles says, holding it out.

Vi wipes her hand on her pants before taking the letter. The paper is crisp, the handwriting elegant. She tears it open, eyes scanning the lines. Her breath hitches. Her hand grips the paper.

Approved.

Her chest tightens, and for a moment, it's nearly painful. Then the words settle.

Finnick, twelve years old, finally adopted.

Vi presses the letter to her chest, breath shuddering out of her.

Caitlyn is already stepping down from the porch, her eyes laden with curiosity. Ever the detective. “Good news?”

Vi nods, her smile crooked and fleeting. Exhales. “Good news.”

It ends like this.

Vi’s head in Caitlyn’s lap, the heavy weight of it familiar. Caitlyn’s fingers slide through her hair, gentle and unhurried, as she reads aloud from a book about childbirth and parenting. The book is ancient— creases in the spine, pages yellowing— but Caitlyn’s voice makes it feel new.

“Y’know, this whole section on swaddling is basically a death trap,” Vi mutters.

“It’s traditional,” Caitlyn huffs.

“It’s bullshit.” Vi stretches out, yawning, cheek pressed into Caitlyn’s thigh. “Besides, you don’t need a book. You’ve got me.”

Caitlyn’s lips twitch. “This particular book’s been in the Kiramman family for generations. My mother used it. Her mother before her. And so on.”

“Hm,” Vi raises a brow. “Explains a lot.”

Caitlyn flicks her cheek. Vi snorts.

Then— a harsh knock at the door. Urgent.

Giles steps in, breathless, a thin metal tube clutched between trembling fingers. His face is pale, his mouth set in a thin line.

“For you,” he says, voice taut.

Vi sits up fast, snatching the tube from his hand. She twists off the cap, shaking out the narrow slip of paper inside. Her eyes flick across the lines.

Bad news. Bad, bad news.

“Shit,” she breathes. Her hand curls around the telegram, knuckles whitening. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What’s happened?” Caitlyn asks.

Vi’s jaw tightens. “Aeris again,” she says through gritted teeth. “Three days. It’s only been three damn days, Caitlyn, and they’ve run off.”

Caitlyn stands, already pulling Vi’s leather jacket from the hook. “Shall I—?”

“No.” Vi’s voice cuts in, sharp and sure. “Don’t send enforcers. Just… I think I know where to find them.”

Caitlyn steps close, fitting the coat over Vi’s shoulders. Her hands linger at Vi’s collar, thumbs brushing the edges. Vi’s breath is fast and shallow, but her eyes soften as Caitlyn kisses her— quick, certain. A tether.

Then Vi is gone, footsteps ringing hard against the cobblestone as she disappears into the night.

Back to where it all began.

Vi slips silently into the bar, boots soundless against the cracked floorboards, swallowed by the haze of neon light that flickers above. The air smells sour— old liquor, stale sweat, and something heavier, darker. It’s the kind of dive you avoid unless you’re desperate or looking for trouble. Where the lost come to disappear, where the rules bend or break altogether.

She slinks through the crowd like a shadow, a figure carved from the same dimness. Her eyes dart to the far end of the room. A flash of vibrant green— Aeris. But Vi doesn’t have time to be relieved, because they’re swaying from side to side, an empty glass in hand.

A chill snakes down her spine as an older man leans into Aeris’s space, his fingers brushing possessively against their arm. His gaze clings to them like a spider testing the edge of its web. When he speaks, his voice is oily, venomous, curling through the air like smog.

Vi’s fists clench.

“Hey!” she shouts, her voice cutting through the static of the bar like a blade.

Her boots slam down with purpose as she rushes forward, wedging herself in front of Aeris, who staggers backwards in shock at the intrusion.

“Vi? What’re you—” Aeris starts.

“Get your filthy hands off of them,” Vi interrupts.

The man appraises her with the kind of smug arrogance that comes with age, power, and the vile belief that everything belongs to him. His breath reeks of booze. He’s older than her, by decades, perhaps, but that sickening gleam in his eye ignites a raw, lethal urge within Vi.

She squares her shoulders.

He chuckles, low and coarse, but there’s no humor in it. “What’s your problem, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

Vi could break his nose for that alone.

But she won’t.

“You,” Vi spits, voice like gravel. “You’re my problem.”

“We were just talking,” he protests, like that’s supposed to convince her of anything. “Getting to know each other.”

“Right,” she snarls, lips curling with disdain. “They’re fifteen, barely able to stand on their own, and you’re ‘just talking’?”

He slams down his drink. The glass cracks under his grip. A threat. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, as if he expects her to back down. To be intimidated by his alleged show of strength.

Vi isn’t. Her body is taut with fury, eyes locking onto him with the deadliest glare she can muster. “Watch it.”

The man’s face tightens, his lips pulling back into a sneer. His hand inches toward Aeris again, like a hunter closing in for the kill.

But Vi is in the way.

“Get out of my face,” he laughs, as if he’s won already.

As if she’s just some little girl trying to play tough.

Vi’s pulse spikes, rage flooding through her veins like a bitter poison. She sets her jaw, the words slipping out coolly, with a promise. “I’m gonna give you one last chance to back the fuck up. Right. Now.”

His eyes flicker with amusement. “Before what?”

Vi sighs, picturing the mountain of paperwork this is going to pile onto Caitlyn’s desk.

Oh, well. She’d warned him.

“Before this.”

Her fist connects with his jaw in a brutal, merciless punch, the crack of bone sickening and so damn satisfying. He stumbles back, his body jerking like a ragdoll, crashing into the crowd behind him. The room goes silent, save for the sickening thud of his body hitting the wall. He crumples to the ground, groaning, blood spilling from his split lip, a tooth falling loose from his mouth with a gurgled curse.

Vi stands tall, chest heaving, anger still pulsing in her veins, but something colder has taken over now— control. Her gaze sweeps the room, her words ringing out like a final warning. “Next time you idiots let kids in here, I’ll make sure to introduce you to my wife. The Sheriff. And trust me, she’s a lot less nice about this shit.”

She turns her gaze toward the bouncer standing by the door, his eyes wide as he watches the scene unfold. “You’d better pray you never see my face again,” she growls. “Aeris. Let’s go.”

Vi’s boots strike the pavement hard enough to bruise, the cold topside air biting her skin. Behind her, Aeris wavers, breath hitching in uneven gasps. Vi had offered an arm, once, twice— but Aeris had shrugged it off with that vague, brittle stubbornness Vi knew better than to challenge. Especially not after tonight.

The sound of footsteps behind her stops.

Vi slows. Turns back.

Aeris is standing in the weak flicker of a streetlight, shoulders hunched, hands knotted into the hem of their sleeves. Their green hair sticks to their forehead in damp strands. Their pupils are wide, their breath shallow, and Vi’s gut twists at how young they look in the low light.

Just a kid. A kid who shouldn’t have to be this tough.

“Do you hate me?” Aeris asks.

Vi blinks. “What?”

“I’m—” Aeris stumbles backwards, drunkenness seeping through. “Shit, Vi. I— I screwed up. I’m s-so screwed up.”

Vi’s chest tightens. Her hands curl into fists at her sides. “You’re not screwed up.”

Aeris is shaking. Their eyes stay pinned to the pavement, like they’re waiting for it to crack open beneath them. Or maybe hoping it will.

“I am,” Aeris mutters, thin and splintering. But their voice cuts clean through the night air, cuts straight to the achy place between Vi’s ribs. “I know I am. And I get it. I do. We’re done here, right?”

Vi’s mouth tenses, a retort forming on her lips, but Aeris is already unraveling, the words spilling out too fast to catch.

“You’ll pass me off,” they slur, quiet and strained. “Find someone else. Someone who can— can handle me or whatever. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Aeris,” Vi says.

No response.

“Aeris.” Softer this time, barely above a breath.

Aeris’s gaze flits upward, glassy with unshed tears.

So young.

Vi holds their gaze, steady as a stone. “I’m not passing you off. Ever.”

Somehow, that makes everything incredibly worse.

Aeris’s chest rises and falls in quick bursts, like suddenly, they’re drowning on dry land.

“Woah— hey,” Vi coaxes. “Slow down. Breathe.”

They inhale shakily, taking the advice, although crossing their arms in a weak display of defiance. “You’re… you’re not?”

Vi’s lips curl into a crooked smirk. “Please. When I was your age I did much worse.”

Aeris’s eyes sharpen through the haze, wide with disbelief. “Liar.”

“Robbed a penthouse,” Vi offers, almost amused. Not quite. “Blew it up. Went to jail.”

Aeris’s jaw slackens, stunned into silence. “You’re messing with me.”

Vi shrugs. “Cross my heart.”

Hope to die, her mind finishes, because Cait has never liked that part.

Aeris looks at her, doubtful, tension still clinging to their frame.

Vi doesn’t let up. “You really think I’d leave my very hot wife at home in the middle of the night, drag myself down to the undercity, crack some guy’s jaw, and scare the shit out of a bar full of people just to… get rid of you?”

Aeris snorts.

“It was pretty cool when his tooth fell out,” they mumble, face brightening despite themselves.

“Don’t get any ideas, kid,” Vi chides, suppressing a smirk.

Aeris’s hands loosen, tension bleeding from their knuckles. Their eyes linger on Vi’s face, searching for something— an edge, a catch, a shadow of hesitation— but Vi keeps her expression relaxed. Immobile.

“C’mon,” she says after a moment, her voice dry, a little gruff. “We’re almost there.”

“Sheriff’s station?” Aeris supplies, their voice thick.

Vi scoffs, glancing over her shoulder. “No way.”

Aeris hesitates, biting their lip. “Don’t you have to report me for the…?”

“For the what?” Vi interrupts, shaking her head like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s heard all day. “I was out for an evening stroll, minding my own damn business, when I saw some perv corner you in the Lanes and drag you into that bar. I knocked him out— because he threw the first punch, obviously— and you thanked me for saving your sorry ass. Did I miss anything?”

“I…” They pause. “No. Guess not.”

Aeris’s brow creases, the confusion only deepening. “Wait… then where are we going?”

Vi braces herself. “My place.”

Not protocol. Even more paperwork. But right now, protocol can go to hell.

“Your… your place?” they squawk, incredulous.

Vi arches a brow. “What, you think I’m gonna let you sleep this off anywhere else?”

Aeris stumbles— again— their foot catching on cracked pavement. Their breath stutters as they lurch forward, where Vi is already standing at attention, waiting for the inevitable. Aeris mumbles a string of curses and straightens, teeth gritted.

“Y’know, you’re doing just great at your job, Vi, ” they spit, words jumbling together. “Helping this poor orphan kid get far away from the scary Zaunite streets without tripping over their own damn feet.”

Vi doesn’t rise to the jab. Doesn’t need to.

Aeris wobbles, and for a split second, their eyes flick toward Vi— wide but guarded— like they know they’ll fall but don’t know how to ask for help.

Vi steps in without a word. She slips her arm under Aeris’s shoulder, steadying them as their weight sags into her side. They stiffen at the contact. Vi remains gentle, never crowding, never letting go.

Aeris’s mouth twitches, as if gearing up for another barb, another push in the opposite direction.

But nothing comes out.

Violet keeps walking.

Keeps holding on.

Caitlyn must’ve seen them coming. She’s wearing her patch, the one that shields her blind eye, the one she only puts on when she doesn’t want others to catch what’s simmering beneath the surface. Especially strangers. And when Vi shows up on their doorstep in the dead of night with a whole teenager in tow, Caitlyn doesn’t even blink. Just steps aside and lets them in without a word, mouth set in that hard, Kiramman line Vi knows too well.

Aeris stumbles in, eyes going wide as they take in the sheer size of the place. “This... this house is stupid,” they slur. “Like, offensively... rich. Y’got a ballroom or somethin’?”

Yes. Two.

Vi rolls her eyes and shrugs off her jacket, but Caitlyn’s already there, helping her out of it with practiced ease before moving to Aeris, who flinches away.

“I can... I can do it,” Aeris protests, failing to find the sleeve.

“You’ll get it back,” Vi mutters, guiding them to the nearest chair before gravity wins the fight.

She gestures between them lazily. “Cait, meet Aeris. Aeris, my wife, Caitlyn Kiramman.”

“Welcome to our home,” Cait punches out, rather awkwardly. Vi can’t blame her for that.

Aeris squints up at Caitlyn, bleary and unsteady. “Your wife’s a pirate?”

Vi snorts. “Nope. A princess. But only on her days off.”

Aeris nods as if that tracks perfectly, head lolling back. “That’s... that’s good. Good for you. Power couple ‘n all that...” They trail off, eyes slipping shut.

Caitlyn doesn’t say a word as they haul Aeris’s limp frame to one of their many spare rooms and plop them onto the too-soft mattress. Aeris mumbles something incoherent about drowning in luxury before slipping under completely.

Vi lingers for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of their chest. She glances toward a staff member passing by— Lena, a meek woman with particularly skilled hands. “Hey,” she calls softly. “Could you check in on them every so often? And make sure there’s a glass of water on the nightstand. Oh, and some medicine. Please.”

Lena nods, disappearing down the corridor. Vi stands there a beat longer, then steps away, easing the door shut behind herself gingerly.

In the dim hallway, Vi shucks off her boots with a sigh. Normally, Caitlyn would shoot her a look, muttering something vaguely haughty about dirty floors and common decency. But tonight, she just marches past, steps clipped and precise as she makes way toward their bedroom.

Vi follows without hesitation. It’s muscle memory at this point— reading Caitlyn, seeing the weight in her stance, hearing the words in her silence. Her composure is marked with that delicate precision Vi’s seen a hundred times before, like glass balanced on the edge of a table.

Vi knows exactly where this is headed.

And, idiot that she is, loves her too much not to walk right into it.

“Alright, Cupcake. Lay it on me.”

Caitlyn closes the bedroom door.

Crosses her arms.

Huffs.

Cute, Vi thinks, stifling a smirk.

“I received an intriguing report from one of my junior officers on patrol in the Fissures,” Caitlyn says, crisp and controlled. “A senior citizen claiming some pink-haired vigilante with a face tattoo assaulted him at a bar. Knocked out his tooth.”

Vi winces.

“She thought I might want to know, considering the description matched my partner.” Cait’s gaze narrows. “Care to explain what exactly you were thinking?”

Vi sighs, bracing her hands on her hips. “I was thinking I should’ve hit him a lot harder. Knocked out a couple more teeth while I was at it.”

“Oh, very nice,” Caitlyn snaps. “That’s exactly what I expect from my wife— a brawler who can’t keep her fists to herself.”

Vi’s head whips around faster than lightning.

They bicker often. Fight occasionally. But it’s been a long time since the jabs have cut that deep.

“Do you even know what happened? That creep had his hands all over Aeris. It’s my job to keep them safe. He’s lucky I didn’t put him in the ground for good.”

Caitlyn’s expression falters, her eyes softening with understanding for just a moment. But then it fades, frustration flooding back in. “And what about you? What if he’d pulled a knife, or a gun, or— or what if you didn’t come back home?”

Vi scoffs, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ve handled much worse, Cait. You know that.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flash, something raw and desperate threatening to bubble to the surface.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you’ve survived worse? How long until worse catches up with you? With me? With—”

Vi opens her mouth to argue, but Caitlyn steps closer, her breath hitching. Her hands tremble where they fidget at her stomach, fingers digging hard enough to blanch the skin. Vi takes note of the stiffness in her frame, the way her shoulders lock and her jaw tightens— like she’s holding herself together by a single, fraying thread.

This isn’t just anger. It can’t be.

“Cait…?” Vi whispers faintly, prodding.

Caitlyn exhales shakily, blinking hard. A single incandescent teardrop trails artfully down her cheek. Slowly, she removes her patch, revealing the moonstone gaze beneath it— cool and luminous, yet guarded.

“I wasn’t... I wasn’t planning to tell you like this.”

Vi’s heart lurches. “Tell me what?”

Caitlyn flexes her fingertips, as if steadying herself before free fall. “The operation worked.”

Vi stares, brain scrambling to catch up. “The…?”

“I’m with child.”

The world narrows down to one single, dizzying point.

“You— you’re pregnant? Right now?”

“No, Violet. I scheduled my pregnancy to kick in next Tuesday at noon.”

Whatever look she sees on Vi’s face makes her pause— like the ground has gone out from under both of them, and sarcasm suddenly seems like the wrong kind of armor.

“Yes,” Caitlyn clarifies, her voice soft. “The doctor confirmed the results this morning.”

The room tilts on its axis, and Vi feels her legs falter. She reaches out instinctively, her hand clutching Cait’s arm for balance. Her heart pounds, a frantic rhythm in her chest.

Pregnant.

Her wife, Caitlyn Kiramman.

Pregnant. With their child.

Something inside Vi fractures open, an overwhelming surge of emotion swelling in her chest. Awe, fear, and disbelief collide, wave after endless wave. Her skin stretches tight, like her body can’t contain how much it feels, breath shallow and jagged as her pulse thrums in her head.

“Holy shit,” she chokes out, laughter mingling with tears.

Cait studies her carefully— vulnerable, raw. Vi steps forward, trembling hands lifting to cradle Caitlyn’s beautiful face. She brushes her thumb across her cheek, a question hanging in the air, heavy with a new kind of love. “We’re gonna be parents?”

The phrase circles in her mind, a looping refrain.

We’re gonna be parents.

We’re gonna be parents.

We’re gonna be…

Cait nods, her lower lip quivering. Vi brings their foreheads together, a smile breaking free, fragile and full to the brim with wonder. When Caitlyn giggles, it’s like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Vi has never been so happy.

Or so afraid.

“I— we need you, Vi. More than ever,” Cait says, warm but insistent. “Tell me you understand.”

“So demanding,” Vi mutters, averting her gaze— not because she is irritated, but because it is heavy sometimes to be cherished so deeply. Because Caitlyn’s face always gives away too much, and if she catches even a flicker of the hurt that she put there, the guilt lodged in her throat might break free.

A finger lifts her chin.

“Violet. Look at me.”

Vi looks.

"Good. Now tell me you understand."

Her stomach swoops.

A flutter of warmth— something primal, unshakeable, blooming fast and ferociously in her veins.

"I do," she says. Obedient.

A thread snaps.

Maybe Vi moves first. Maybe Caitlyn does.

Maybe it doesn’t matter, because the distance between them vanishes like a name whispered into a roaring storm.

They collide.

Hands fumble, grasp, tear. Caitlyn's breath is searing hot against Vi's lips. Vi’s shirt is halfway off before she even realizes Cait’s the one pulling it. She helps only enough to get it gone.

A shove at her shoulder. A nip at her ear. Vi stumbles, back meeting the wall as Caitlyn follows like a stormfront, dragging her down into the heart of it.

And then— impact.

Vi is pinned, Caitlyn’s hand buried between her legs, fucking her open, fierce and ruthless. Her breath shatters against Cait’s mouth, thighs trembling as she drives into her harder, like she’s trying to force her into the foundation of this house. Like she’d sink her into its bones if she could. Cait’s palm grinds against her clit, and Vi’s spine bows, taut with need.

They don’t often do it this way—

But when they do— Gods, when they do—

“Baby—” Vi gasps, falling forward to clutch at Caitlyn’s shoulders, body shaking, knees buckling. Her mouth presses open against Caitlyn’s collarbone, and Cait catches her, holds her up with one hand braced at her hip, her fingers sinking deeper inside. Vi whimpers, wrecked and desperate, and Cait hums low in her throat, as though this is exactly where Vi belongs.

“Can’t lose you,” she chokes out, her voice rough as she drags her teeth down the line of Vi’s jaw. Something solid. Something to feel. Caitlyn's fingers curl possessively, each deliberate thrust carving the words into her very being. “Can’t ever lose you.”

Vi’s hands grip Caitlyn's shirt, pulling her closer, though there’s nowhere left to go. “You won’t,” she pants. “Never.”

Caitlyn’s mouth is everywhere— throat, chin, cheekbone— feverish with need, like she has to taste the proof that Vi is alive, here, hers.

“You scared me,” she hisses, her teeth catching on the sensitive shell of Vi’s ear, pace quickening. “Picking a fight like that. What if—?”

“Had to,” Vi cuts in, the thought gutting her.

Caitlyn’s lower lip wobbles like she doesn’t believe it. Tears stream down her cheeks— silent, unregistered.

But Vi sees them, and it aches. She aches.

“I’m here,” Violet coos, cupping the back of her neck. Soft voice. Soft, soft hands. “Right—”

“No.”

Caitlyn fists her hand in Vi’s hair, yanking her head back. Vi’s mouth falls open in a startled gasp, but before she can speak, Caitlyn’s mouth crashes into hers, a bruising kiss that’s all teeth and heat and punishment. Cait sinks her teeth into Vi’s bottom lip, hard, claiming, before soothing the sting with the sweep of her tongue.

“You don’t get to scare me like that,” she murmurs into Vi’s mouth. “You’re mine.”

Caitlyn’s hand fucks her harder, thumb pressing cruel little circles into her clit, and Vi tilts her hips up, up, needing—

“Cait—” she moans, eyes screwed shut.

“All mine,” Caitlyn seethes, her fingers merciless. Her free hand grips the small of Vi’s back, locking her in place as she begins to crumble rapidly. “Say it.”

A desperate whine slips from Vi’s lips.

Everything burns. Coils tighter. Close, close, close—

“Say it,” Caitlyn urges, eyes wide and wild, tears streaking down her face. “Say you’re mine.”

“I—” Vi tries, bliss-drunk, head swimming. “Fuck, I-I’m—”

“Say it,” she commands.

And Violet was never strong enough to resist Caitlyn Kiramman anyway.

“Yours,” she cries, the word ripping itself from her throat as her climax ripples through her. “I’m yours.”

It floods her, all of it.

Lust, love, devotion, fear— over and over and over.

Caitlyn coaxes her through her release, gentle. Tender. Shy in the way only someone who’s seen every part of you still can be. Caitlyn’s lips ghost along the curve of Vi’s jaw, clean hand smoothing back the dampened strands of her mussed hair.

“You’ve got me, Cait,” Vi promises, swiping away the wetness under her eyes with the pad of her thumb. “Always.”

Caitlyn nuzzles her face into Vi’s palm.

Kisses it once.

Twice.

Three times for good measure.

She doesn’t utter a word in reply, but Vi hears Caitlyn’s resounding echo nonetheless.

Always.

Vi sets down the last plate and steps back, rubbing her hands down the sides of her pants. It’s not perfect— some of the rice stuck to the pot and the fish is cut pretty unevenly— but the table is laid out properly. Plates, napkins, the good Kiramman cutlery Caitlyn insists they use for dinners with Tobias. The candlelight catches on the polished silver edges, making everything look a little softer, a little warmer than it really is.

It’s… effort. Maybe that’s enough.

Caitlyn sits at the head of the table, eye patch adorned, back straight, skimming through a stack of paperwork with a practiced sort of detachment. Her fingers graze the edges of the pages, crisp under her touch. Her mouth is tight, eyes soft. Waiting.

Tobias sits to her right, hands folded neatly over one another. His demeanor is calm, almost too calm. Clinical. He hasn’t said much since arriving, just watched Vi bounce around the kitchen with that measured, assessing stare he always wears when deciding whether or not to approve of something. It makes Vi feel like a kid about to be graded, and she hates how much she still cares about passing the test.

Aeris stands near the doorway, shoulders drawn up tight, the hollow of their throat working with shallow breaths. They’ve got that wide-eyed look Vi recognizes— the one that says I shouldn't be here. She understands the feeling all too well.

Vi clears her throat. “Tobias, this is Aeris. Aeris, my father-in-law.”

Aeris’s gaze drops toward the floor like there’s something dangerous hidden beneath it.

Vi reaches out, resting a steady hand on their shoulder. A grounding touch.

“They’re gonna be staying with us for a little while,” she adds.

Tobias purses his lips. “For how long, exactly?”

“However long Violet finds necessary,” Caitlyn chides, her tone cool as steel.

Vi’s jaw tightens. Tobias offers Aeris a polite nod. He looks… well, like a man who has dealt with Vi’s antics long enough to know not to expect peace from this new arrangement.

The sharp click of a window latch unlocking shatters the moment. A blur of colorful fabric drops through the opening, hitting the floor with a clean, hard thud.

Vi’s fists snap to attention before her mind catches up with her body. A breathless beat stretches out, tension stringing through the room like a live wire.

“What have I said about using the front door?” Vi scolds, exasperated.

Ekko straightens, brushing the dust off his clothes. His head tilts, the scent of seared fish and warm spices curling through the air. A grin unfurls on his lips as his eyes flick toward the table.

“Damn,” he says, eyes glinting. “You didn’t say you were cooking.”

Vi drops her hands with a groan. “Because it wasn’t for you!”

Ekko strolls over nonetheless, hands shoved into his pockets. He nods toward the spread of food and whistles low. “Yeah, but it’s here, and I’m here, so…” He gestures at the table. “The more the merrier, right?”

Vi sighs. “Go ahead, Little Man.”

Aeris’s brow furrows. “He’s not little.”

Ekko flashes them a grin, white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. “See? Someone gets it.”

Vi rolls her eyes. “I’m not calling you Big Man, Ekko.”

“Not yet,” Ekko corrects, already reaching for the fish.

Vi shoots him a dry look but doesn’t stop him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Caitlyn says, her voice cutting through the noise as she folds a napkin neatly on her lap. “Everyone find a seat before the food gets cold.”

And when Caitlyn Kiramman gives an order, you follow it.

Chairs scrape against the floor. Plates get passed around. Tobias takes a serving of fish without comment, which Vi takes as a small victory. Aeris hesitates until Vi nudges the bowl of rice toward them with her knuckles. They cautiously scoop some onto their plate.

Tobias peers at them. “So, Aeris,” he says mildly. “Where do you come from?”

Aeris fidgets with their rings. “Y’know. Underground.”

Tobias’s brow lifts slightly. “The Undercity?”

“No, sir,” Aeris shrugs. “Clawed up from right beneath the floorboards with my bare hands.”

Vi chokes on her water.

Ekko snickers, nearly dropping his fork.

Caitlyn’s mouth twitches imperceptibly beneath her palm.

Tobias’s mouth twitches too, a glint of something almost amused in his eyes. “Ah.” He gestures toward Aeris’s plate. “Eat. You’re too thin.”

Cait nudges him, muttering a low, “Inappropriate.”

Aeris just eyes him warily, then stabs a piece of fish with their fork.

Ekko leans back in his chair, hands laced behind his head. “So, Vi— when’s the next family dinner? Because this? Not so bad.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m serious.” Ekko’s smirk is easy, teasing. “You could start up a restaurant.”

Vi snorts. “Yeah, let me just open a kitchen for emotionally stunted misfits.”

“That’s called a bar,” Caitlyn murmurs.

Ekko laughs, mouth full of rice. Aeris’s gaze flicks around the table, some of the tension in their shoulders starting to loosen. Vi notices Tobias watching them carefully— not with suspicion, but with the quiet attention of someone taking stock.

Tobias dabs at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “The embroidery on your vest is quite delicate. Did you complete it yourself?”

Aeris’s eyes sharpen. “Why?”

“Curious.”

Aeris’s fork scrapes the edge of their plate. “I make all my clothes.”

Tobias studies them for a moment longer. Then, without comment, he slides the bowl of vegetables toward them. Aeris hesitates, but takes a few, adding them to their plate.

Vi catches Caitlyn’s eyes. Her lips form a timid smile, just enough to suggest that maybe this is going a lot better than either of them expected. Vi’s shoulders loosen up a fraction.

Ekko is mid-ramble about some supply issue with the Firelights, hands gesturing animatedly, when Vi interjects, tone light, teasing. “So how’s that girlfriend of yours?”

His face falls, eyes downcast. “Ended things.”

Vi wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Hm. Not surprised.”

Caitlyn shoots her a sharp look. “Behave.”

Ekko gestures toward Caitlyn. “Yeah, Vi. You heard your wife. Behave.”

Vi raises a brow. “I liked this one.”

“No, you didn’t,” Ekko scoffs. “You told me she was a—”

“Alright,” Vi cuts in, mouth twisting as she gestures towards Aeris, a not-so-subtle warning. Aeris’s attention stays fixed on their plate, although they peek at Ekko with vague interest. “So I didn’t love the girl. But I thought maybe she’d stick around.”

Ekko reaches into his jacket. “Well, maybe you’ll like this better.” He pulls out a bottle. Sets it on the table. “Didn’t come empty-handed.”

Vi tenses. The red of the wine catches the candlelight, dark and oh-so-familiar.

Ekko winces before producing something else. A different drink entirely.

He hadn’t forgotten after all.

Vi exhales, tension bleeding from her frame as he uncorks the cider. Pours her a generous glass.

“Not the fancy stuff you Kirammans drink, but, y’know. It’ll do.”

He moves toward Caitlyn with the wine next.

Vi’s hand shoots out instinctively, catching his wrist mid-pour. “She can’t have that.”

Ekko freezes.

Caitlyn’s eyes widen.

Tobias’s fork halts, hovering inches from his plate.

“Why not?” Aeris asks around a mouthful of fish.

Vi opens her mouth— then closes it. “Uh.”

Cait sighs, pinching at her forehead. “Violet.”

Shit.

Ekko’s eyes flick toward Caitlyn, then Vi, then back to Caitlyn.

“Oh.” His expression brightens, the realization dawning slowly. “Oh.”

Tobias watches with rapt attention, unreadable, waiting.

Aeris takes advantage of the distraction, swiping some of his vegetables onto their plate.

Vi rubs at the back of her neck, heat crawling up her ears. “So, um— funny thing…”

“Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose,” Caitlyn cuts in.

Then, without further preamble, she declares, “I’m pregnant.”

The silence is immediate and total.

Ekko’s mouth drops open.

Tobias, eyes glistening with unshed tears, reaches for Caitlyn’s hand.

Aeris snorts. “Wait, seriously?”

“Fucking wild,” Ekko breathes out. He thumps Vi on the back so hard she nearly coughs.

Tobias clears his throat, voice thick. “You might have mentioned this before dinner, my dear.”

“It’s still quite early on, Father. We wanted to be sure,” Caitlyn says softly. Then a pointed glance at Vi. “Someone had other ideas.”

“Nonetheless,” Tobias says, eyes crinkling at the corner. “A child is always a blessing. You will be the most excellent mother, Caitlyn.”

Ekko cackles. “I’m totally gonna teach your baby to hoverboard. No helmet.”

“Helmet,” Caitlyn admonishes, while Vi snaps, “Not a fucking chance.”

“This family is weird,” Aeris mutters under their breath.

Vi buries her face in her hands. “I’m gonna need something stronger than cider.”

Vi’s eyes snap open at the sound of Caitlyn screaming.

She sits up, panic lodged in her throat. Caitlyn is thrashing back and forth, breath ragged and shallow, fingers clutching at the bedspread like it’s the only thing left to tether her to the world.

“Cait—?” Vi’s voice is low, steady. She starts to reach for her.

Caitlyn flinches— hard— like she’s been physically struck.

“Don’t,” she gasps. Her eyes are wide and glassy, chest rising and falling too fast.

She’s not here. Not yet.

Vi’s hand retreats. “Okay,” she murmurs. “Okay, baby. It’s me. You’re safe.”

“No, she’s—” Cait chokes out. Her hands tremble violently where they’re fisted in the sheets. “She was— my neck, my—” Her voice splinters into scattered fragments.

Maddie.

Vi’s pulse thrums hard against her ribs. Her heart lurches. She pushes down the ache of it and shifts toward Caitlyn, keeping a careful distance. “Breathe with me, Cait,” she says softly. “In for four, out for four.” She counts aloud, voice even. Caitlyn’s breath stutters, trying to match it.

“You’re home,” Vi affirms after a moment. “We’re in our bedroom, in Piltover. It’s raining outside— you can hear it on the roof. Listen.” A faint patter underscores her words. “There’s a draft from the window because I still haven’t fixed the latch. Feel that, Cupcake?”

Cait’s breathing starts to slow. Her eyes, still glassy, flick toward Vi’s.

“You’re Caitlyn Kiramman,” Vi says, voice gentle but sure. “You’re a sharpshooter. A damn good one.” Her mouth softens. “You’re my wife.”

Cait’s shoulders drop a fraction.

A long pause.

“I had to use my rifle today,” she confesses. Caitlyn’s voice wavers like she’s standing at the edge of a cliff, nothing beneath her but air. One wrong step, and she’ll fall— Vi can see it in the tremor of her bottom lip, the tight line of her jaw.

Vi feels her stomach churn. She knows what that means— knows what it costs Cait to pull the trigger these days. The weight of it lingers in her hands long after the smoke clears.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Cait says, breaking. “I would’ve… but it doesn’t matter. It still feels—”

“I know,” Vi murmurs. She hesitates, then carefully asks, “Can I hold you?”

Caitlyn swallows. Her jaw trembles— she nods, once.

Vi slips beneath the blankets, gently curling an arm around Caitlyn’s waist. Caitlyn melts into her, burying her face in the curve of Vi’s neck, her hand clinging tight to the fabric of Vi’s shirt. Vi’s fingers trace the small of her back, unhurried, warmth bleeding through the thin barrier of cotton. Caitlyn’s breath hiccups, then steadies, the noisy remnants of fear unraveling into quiet.

“Sleep, baby,” Vi whispers, pressing a featherlight kiss to her temple.

Caitlyn obeys. Vi stays still, listening to the quiet thrum of her heartbeat. Slowly, the tension in Cait’s limbs unspools, her fingers easing where they’d knotted in a death grip in Vi’s shirt.

Minutes bleed into hours. The shadows in the room stretch and ripple with the dim light filtering through the curtains. Vi’s eyes remain open, fixed on the dark outline of the tall ceiling. Her thoughts drift— to Maddie’s name on Caitlyn’s lips, to the tremor in her voice, to the helplessness that twisted cold and hollow in Vi’s chest when Cait flinched away from her touch.

With an exasperated sigh, Vi carefully untangles herself from Caitlyn’s grasp.

Cait grumbles in her sleep, a weak protest, but doesn’t wake.

Vi kisses her hair, then eases from the bed, her steps soft as she leaves the room behind.

The house is dark and quiet. Vi pads toward the kitchen, bare feet cool against the wooden floor. She fills a glass of water at the sink and leans back against the counter, pressing the rim of the glass to her lips with a shaking hand.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Vi glances toward the doorway.

Aeris stands barefoot in loose sleep clothes, green hair tied back in a rumpled ponytail.

Vi sets down her glass with a quiet clink. “Yeah. Cait had a nightmare.”

Aeris steps closer, leaning lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Me too,” they admit, their voice decepptively light. “Bad one?”

Vi’s mouth tightens. “Mhm.” She rubs her thumb along the rim of the glass. “You?”

Aeris hums thoughtfully, gaze flitting to the floor. “Guess so.” They shift their weight. “Do you ever get them too?”

Vi grips the counter with one stiff hand. “All the time.”

Another weighty pause.

“Why did you fight?” Aeris’s voice is soft. “In the war, I mean? I just… can’t picture it.”

Vi’s eyes flick toward Aeris’s face. Their expression is open, curious. Patient, not prying.

The answer is out of her mouth before she can think much of it.

“For love,” she says.

Aeris’s brows lift. “Was it worth it?”

Vi exhales slowly. Her mind drifts, sifting through memories—

Caitlyn’s laugh on the back porch, head tipped back, sunlight catching the curve of her smile.

The bridge standing whole again, the ground firm beneath her boots, no smoke in the air.

Children’s voices ringing through the street, high and bright, feet slapping against cobblestones as they chase one another fearlessly.

“In some ways… yeah.”

But then—

Loris’s limp body, pierced with arrows.

Isha’s final glance, a promise that faded with her last breath.

Jinx and Vander, falling far, far away, swallowed by the blinding light of the explosion.

“… In others, no.”

Aeris’s gaze sharpens. “Do you regret it?”

Vi mulls over the question.

“Not really,” she decides. “Not anymore. But I wish it hadn’t come to that. More than anything.”

Nobody wins in war, Vi.

Violet wishes Vander were around so she could tell him just how right he was.

Aeris’s gaze lingers. A quiet understanding settles between them.

Vi drains the rest of the water. Sets her glass down in the base of the sink.

“Get some rest, kid,” she says.

“You too,” Aeris mumbles, a hint of hesitation in their voice that Vi doesn’t miss.

Vi knows exactly what’s going on. The house might look grand during the day, but at night, the vast, empty rooms seem to grow and stretch, swallowing up all sense of comfort. Especially for a Zaunite kid who is used to shared rooms and cramped spaces.

“Y’know,” Vi ventures, her voice light, “I could use some company on the way back. This place feels… haunted at night.” She grins, trying to make it sound casual.

Aeris scoffs, eyeing her skeptically. “Haunted? Seriously? You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Vi smirks. Success.

“Not scared. Just… cautious.” She gestures toward the door. “C’mon. Walk with me?”

Aeris rolls their eyes but doesn’t argue. “Fine, whatever.”

They make their way down the hall in comfortable silence, the quiet only broken by the occasional creak of noisy floorboards. When they reach Aeris’s room, Vi stops.

“Goodnight, Aer,” she whispers. “Try not to get eaten by ghosts.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sleep tight, scaredy-cat,” Aeris taunts.

Vi knows they’re secretly grateful.

When she returns to bed, Caitlyn shifts in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

“Mm… Vi…” Cait mumbles, barely conscious. “You came back.”

Vi laughs softly through her nose. Presses a tender kiss to Caitlyn’s neck, wraps around her.

“Never went far,” she whispers, feeling Cait’s warmth settle her. “Goodnight, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn hums contentedly, her lilting tone a soft balm against the tension in Vi’s body. Vi lets go, the weight of it all unraveling in the quiet of the room, replaced by the steady rhythm of Caitlyn’s breathing. Everything stills. Vi’s racing mind. The world outside. Time itself.

The ghosts can wait.

And so can tomorrow.